The Many Incarnations of Andrea Fosters
by Athena'sDragon
Summary: Andrea Fosters is a journalist. At least, she was-that was before she died and got kicked out of heaven. Even as she adapts to the world of ghosts, hunters, and angels in which she now lives, she begins to realize that she may have belonged there all along, and that there may be yet more beneath the surface. Some OC/Cas, mostly OC/OC. COMPLETE
1. In Which a Journalist Becomes a Martyr

**Author's Note:** This is a new format I'm trying for a story. There will be three or four chapters of introduction, then a series of oneshots. I'm also looking for a beta for this story, so PM me! Enjoy and please review.

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**Chapter 1: In Which a Journalist Becomes a Martyr**

It's a cheesy way to start a good story, but I woke up.

I had been having a really good dream, one of those fuzzy, bright, ephemeral things which begin to slip away as soon as you awake. _Angels_, I thought to myself with a smile._Something about angels._

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to cling to the fragments of memory before they escaped me. I wasn't able to visualize much besides a tan trench coat, which confused me. I had definitely dreamed about angels, so why the strange outfit? A faint taste of chocolate remained on my tongue and I thought that I remembered lots of fluffy pink stuff.

Shaking my head, I opened my eyes again. It was probably the four cups of coffee I had had the previous day messing with my head.

Speaking of, my sheets were nowhere to be seen. I was lying on my bed but nothing covered my blue-striped pajama bottoms except the watery yellow light filtering through my dilapidated blinds.

"Cas!" I yelled at my apartment in general. "What the Hell?"

I slammed my feet to the floor, unsurprised to feel that it was ice cold. Turns out, journalists usually don't make enough to afford hot water, a warm apartment, _and _a reasonable amount of food. At least, they don't when they also have to feed another mouth and replace all of the furniture that said mouth inadvertently destroys.

"Cas!" I hollered again, grabbing my coat and wrapping it tight around myself. It wasn't really thick enough to keep out the chill, but the smell of ink and paper comforted me enough to make up for it. The tan color reminded me briefly of my dream, but it wasn't the right style. Now completely awake, I stamped into my still-dark living room/kitchen and flipped on a light switch to see the offending individual lying on my couch, sound asleep and wrapped up in my blankets.

"Cas." This time it was a groan, and the dark hair protruding from the end of the nest twitched lightly. "Dude. Wake up. I've got to get going, and I'm not making you breakfast if it's going to make me late."

The magical promise of food brought my friend around and he snuffled his way to open air.

"C'mon, boy. Brekkie." I turned to the kitchen and heard the scrabble of racing paws following me. By the time I had prepared a nice bowl of kibble with leftover broth drizzled over it, a hopefully twitching nose and pair of soulful brown eyes were waiting for me.

I set the bowl down and my greedy chocolate lab shoved his nose as far into it as he could without inhaling his breakfast through his nose. I sighed. "I swear you eat better than I do, Casper."

I patted my sweetheart on the head and was rewarded with a distracted tail wave. I shrugged and grabbed my biggest mug to fill with coffee, then proceeded to drink two cupfulls. There was a companionable silence as I leaned against the counter and Casper licked his empty bowl.

"That's better, eh?" My roommate cocked his head affectionately. "You're right, I should get ready."

Having perfected the art of dressing in a hurry, I was ready to go out the door in less than five minutes. My ink-smudged blue Oxford was the one I usually wore when I overtimed in the presses, but it just felt right with my hasty auburn bun and rumpled khakis today. I shrugged into my "news coat," as my friends called it, and stuffed my feet into the only-slightly-too-small black pumps which killed my feet every day. I really needed a new pair of flats.

Casper whimpered pathetically at me as he did every morning at precisely this time. "Look, Cas, I promise I'll bring you a doggie bag tonight. Rod's taking me out, remember?" I pointed at him, noting the sparkle in his eyes which meant that he had successfully associated my boyfriend's name with food. "Mrs. Kennedy is coming to feed you and let you out at six. Be a good boy." More soulful eyes. "I mean it. You can keep my sheets for the afternoon, but that's it." I stepped out my peeling white door, but stuck my head back around the frame for a last word. "Love you, Cas. See you tonight."

As I shut and locked the door, I was puzzled to hear Cas barking anxiously. He was usually quiet as soon as I was out of sight, and I briefly wondered whether or not I should check on him. I checked my watch instead, which made my decision for me. I scribbled a note and stuck it to Mrs. Kennedy's door on my way past.

_Cas seems a little anxious today, can you keep an eye on him? Thanks. You have my #._

Just like every morning, the shiny blonde woman behind the reception desk looked pointedly at the clock as I ran past. "Running a little late, Andrea?"

"Shut up." I winked to let her know I wasn't actually mad. Just like every morning. Then I kicked open the door, just like every morning, because I was juggling a thermos of coffee and several files of writing, just like every morning. My beat-up, twice-previously-owned, no-discernible-color car sat where I always parked it under a tree. The only thing which made that morning different from any other was the man leaning against the hood of said vehicle.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm running late." I barely glanced at him as I fumbled for my keys and dropped several sheets of paper on the ground. They skittered away across the parking lot and I tried to jam my house key into the door of my car. Damn.

"These yours?" I finally opened the door in time to snatch the draft of "Local Boy Makes All-State Band" which was being handed to me.

"Yeah, thanks." I tried to offer a brief smile, but it faltered when a trick of the light- what else could it have been- made it look like the man's eyes were completely black. "Uhhh… are you OK?"

"Fine, thanks. Just waiting for the bus." He gestured at the sign behind him, and when he turned back around his eyes were normal. I examined him for a moment, then decided that I didn't have time for it.

"I really am late. Sorry. And thanks." I held up the papers then tossed them haphazardly into the passenger seat, throwing myself into the car after them. A slam of the door and a jerk of the key and the abused engine wheezed to life. Gripping the steering wheel tightly because I was still a little unsettled, I nodded to the now benignly-smiling man outside the window and bumped out onto the road.

A few minutes later, both the mysterious man and my strange dream had completely left my mind. I was already a good way through my coffee, and the songs on the radio that morning were very singable. My mood lifted and I actually grinned when I stopped at the intersection from which I could see the dingy newspaper offices.

A school bus pulled up alongside me, and I was even generous enough to ignore the rude gestures and odd faces being aimed at me. Out of the corner of my vision, I saw a metro bus coming awfully fast at us across the intersection. I flexed my fingers and sharpened my awareness, just in case.

The bus wasn't slowing down. The light was clearly red, but it barreled towards the intersection. Directly at the school bus, in fact. And the driver was none other than Mr. Mysterious, I realized with a jolt. By the time he was close enough for me to see, I could also see that his eyes were completely black and that he definitely wasn't stopping.

Without much thought, the caffeine and adrenaline in my system slammed my foot onto the gas in a panicked attempt to stop the inevitable. My wheels spun as I flew into the middle of the intersection at the same time as the bus, making a jerky left turn to slam into it.

In the ensuing red, dizzy spin, I managed to see that the school bus was only grazed. I had somehow, incredibly, altered the bus's course enough to save a couple of lives, at least. I caught the face of one terrified student with her face to the window, and I was happy that she would live to get Mr. Mysterious arrested. Something snapped in my arm, then in my leg, then in my other arm, and my triumph faded in a haze of pain. The car was still spinning, but that power pole was approaching awfully-


	2. In Which a Martyr Becomes a Spirit

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much to KeepCalmAndDoItLikeAFanGirl for being the first to favorite and follow! :-) Still looking for a beta, PM me and _please please please_ review because it makes my day.

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**Chapter 2: In Which a Martyr Becomes a Soul**

"Damn it," I moaned as I looked around me. "I'm definitely dead." I just couldn't figure out why the afterlife looked so much like Hogwarts.

The creamy, blue-veined marble floor reached so far around me that I swore I could see it curving with the earth- that is, if I was still on Earth, of course. Towering stone walls with intricate vines carved into them rose to an arched ceiling shrouded in shadows and sourceless candlelight. This place felt ancient, but not in a creepy way. It was stately and proud and safe, a bastion against anything evil. It emanated a strong sense of peace.

I approached one of the walls and saw that the carvings were even more detailed than I had first thought. I ran my finger along a deep trough which was shaped roughly like a letter "e". In fact, if I wasn't mistaken…

"The Bible?" The murmured thought traveled along the story of Adam and Eve and echoed over to the illustration of Noah's Ark.

"Yes," came the unexpected reply from behind me, "but a much more truthful version." I spun around.

The only way to describe the being standing before me was "angelic," which probably isn't very helpful considering that I was, in fact, staring at an angel. He seemed to be made up entirely of light and energy, but I somehow identified a face and body. Huge wings were folded against his back, and beyond that I couldn't see much. It was like my eyes were trying to form familiar shapes out of something which held none. Staring at his fiery presence for too long made my eyes feel like they were burning, but somehow all over me. The one word answer was enough to leave my ears ringing, so I squinted at the floor and didn't say anything.

"You may speak if you wish." This time the sound was softer and gentler, though still full of extreme power. "Many do not take the time to examine this place. They simply proceed to the entrance."

I looked around and saw several lines of what looked like ordinary people passing through a glowing golden gate. I managed to make eye contact with the angel's feet and decided it was worth it to talk.

"Where am I? Am I dead?" As soon as the words passed my lips, more sprung up to follow them, and before I could stop myself I was nearly crying with the rush of uncertainty. "I am, aren't I? Is this the afterlife? I'm not in _heaven_, am I? Are you an angel?"

"My name is Joshua, and I am an angel of the Lord, yes. And you're not technically in heaven yet. Tessa went ahead and brought you up and wiped your memory because you were so traumatized after the crash, but you still have a choice."

This didn't confuse me any less. "Tessa?"

"The reaper who collected your soul. She was concerned that you would make a regrettable decision before you were rational again."

"Wait, so I can choose not to be dead?" That sounded too good to be true.

The angel did something that seemed like shaking his head. "No, but you can choose whether your spirit remains on Earth or journeys on. The reason you are here in this entryway and not already in your heaven is that you still need to decide."

I looked down at my hands. They were paler than usual, but otherwise they seemed normal. Above my wrists I saw the familiar sleeves of my news coat. "What happens if I go back?"

"You walk the world as a spirit, unable to move from your point of death until you go insane and some hunter comes along and blasts your soul downstairs."

It was hard to tell, but that was a different angel's voice. I looked back up to see two radiant figures standing before me. The second was clearly trying to urge the first towards the gates to heaven, and it seemed agitated. It nodded- at least, I think that's what it did- and said "Zachariah. Come along, Joshua, I'm sure this young lady is capable of making the right decision without your intervention."

And just like that, I was left alone in the middle of heaven's hall. There was only the slight whisper of dead feet across marble to fill the echoing silence.

* * *

"Name?"

I blinked. "Andrea Fosters."

"Cause of death?" The tiny, bespectacled man stared at me fixedly, his pen poised over the giant book in front of him.

"Car crash."

"Decision?"

"Excuse me?"

The man looked annoyed. I noticed the neat rows of text which he had been writing and wondered whether his OCD little heaven was to be here, entering down names for eternity. "Heaven or earth?"

"Oh." I had had a lot of time to think while I made my way through the line, and I had decided that it was heaven for me. Spending the rest of time wandering around a dingy intersection without being able to interact with anyone didn't exactly sound pleasant. "Heaven, um, please."

The man finished the last "n" with a flourish and gestured me through the slightly-open gate ahead. I tried to go cautiously, but the entire line behind me shuffled forwards and I was bumped head-first into heaven.

The first thing that I thought of was my dream. The vaguely-remembered pinkish, cloud-like material made up the ground and sky of my world. I wondered whether this was how it was for everyone, or whether it was just my idea of heaven. A little cottage that I was sure I had seen in a book of fairy tales at some point was nestled in a copse of picturesque trees to my right, and a gorgeous garden bloomed to my left. I walked a few paces left.

Huge, antique white and red roses climbed over wild strawberries and raspberries. A giant chocolate fountain stood in a pink-paved circle in the center of the crazy arrangement. Exotic flowers wriggled their way in between paving stones and in patches of shade. A brilliant blue butterfly drifted lazily past my face and the gentle buzzing of distant insects filled the warm, deliciously-scented air. I suddenly recognized the garden as a much more realistic version of a wistful image I had scribbled when I was about eight.

A green wooden bench seemed to appear out of the undergrowth next to me and I sat down heavily on it, amazed. This was the most beautiful place that I could possibly imagine; I supposed that that was the point. I swung my feet and realized that there was a teetering pile of books underneath the bench. Some were in English, some in French (which I had a decent grasp on), and some in a language that didn't look like anything I had ever seen before. If I squinted at it long enough, I could make out the general meaning, which made me wonder if it was some kind of heavenly script. The symbols wavered and made my head hurt if I looked for too long, much like the angels themselves.

Holding some sort of leather-bound tome in my hand which was apparently a history of French journalism, the enormity of my situation hit me. I thought about Cas, sitting at home and whining in my apartment. I thought of my new boyfriend Rod, a really nice guy who worked down the street from the paper at an electronics store. I thought of poor old Mrs. Kennedy next door and all of my friends that I would never go out with again. Because I was dead. I was dead, in heaven, and I was never going home again.

I sniffed sadly. As a shining drop slid off of my chin, I felt something heavier than a tear land on my leg. I looked down to see a chocolate truffle sitting in my lap. I cocked my head in confusion and shook another tear loose, which transformed into a gummy cola bottle to fall on the ground.

So I cried candy in heaven. That was interesting. I kept sobbing quietly and pathetically and eating the candy that this produced until I felt a little calmer and my curiosity returned. Then I stood up, brushed the crushed nuts from my news coat, and wandered back in the direction of the cottage I had seen. The building was grey cobblestone with a thatched roof and cute little windows. The door, which was a deep navy blue, creaked open when I pushed on it.

Inside, there was just one room. A fireplace and low counter made up the kitchen, and the two-person table held a place setting and a big, old-fashioned typewriter. A neat bed was pushed against one wall and a few assorted stools and shelves were arranged in some sort of haphazard order throughout the room. I noticed a piece of paper protruding from the top of the typewriter and bent down to read it.

_Welcome to Heaven!_

_Milk, meat, and vegetables, and other foods will be delivered every other day. The ice cream truck and travelling library come twice a week. If you have any other needs, feel free to type them out and leave them in the garden for your request to be processed._

_Any written works may also be left in this location for publishing consideration._

_The Management_

I snorted; so my heaven was some conglomeration of a newspaper operation and an old-fashioned cottage. I didn't know what that said about me, but I decided it didn't matter. Mostly to keep myself from pacing, I sat down at the table, placed a fresh piece of paper in the typewriter, and made a list of questions to answer at some point.

_1._ _Find out more about angels._ I remembered how Zachariah had bossed Joshua. _Hierarchy? How do they run heaven/what is their function? _I left some space for jotting notes later and continued.

_2._ _What happens to spirits who remain on earth?_

_3._ _Can I contact my friends and family?_

_4._ _If there's a heaven, is there a Hell? Purgatory?_

_5._ _What is the mysterious heaven language?_

I remembered some of my conversation with the angels.

_6._ _Reapers?_

_7._ _Hunters?_

By the time I felt like my brain was empty of questions, the glow outside the windows of my new home had dimmed to a soft twilight interspersed with fireflies. I felt much better for having made a list. It brought some semblance of order to this nonsensical place.

When I stood up, I stretched, expecting to be stiff or sore after my ordeal. I felt… perfect. I glanced at my reflection in the window, then down at myself. As far as I could see, I looked exactly like I had when I had left the house this morning, down to the pumps which should have been torturing my feet right now. They weren't. My news coat and khakis still had smudges of ink on them and there was a dark streak on my forehead; the typewriter must have bled onto my hand. My legs weren't snapped like twigs and my arms weren't splintered, my skull was intact and I was clean of all blood.

I looked down at my bed and didn't feel at all tired. I wondered if I should poke around and look for some food, but I wasn't really hungry either. I suddenly felt incredibly weary at the prospect of living for the rest of eternity without any sleep to break up my time.

As soon as I thought this, I felt sleepy. It was a warm, comfortable kind of tiredness, but I knew what I needed. Feeling a little creeped out at how much this world was ruled by my consciousness, I sank down onto the bed. I barely had time to pull the soft blankets up to my shoulders before I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	3. In Which a Spirit Becomes a Ghost

**Author's Note: **Be warned that this story's updates will slow way, way down once I start seriously working on my Isara Jones story again. In the meantime, enjoy and please review!

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**Chapter 3: In Which A Soul Becomes a Ghost**

Eyes still shut, I listened to the clatter of printing presses and prayed. _Please let that have been a dream. Please don't let me be dead. Please, please have let me fall asleep on a graveyard shift in the presses and I drank too much coffee and had a crazy dream. _I cracked one eye open. A gorgeous, tropical-looking bird with emerald and sapphire plumage was perched on my window sill. It opened its mouth and released a familiar clattering noise.

I almost swore, then wondered if that was allowed in heaven. Then I decided that I didn't care. "Damn it." After smacking the window pane a few times to scare away the bird, I rolled out of bed and got to my feet, feeling perfectly rested and not at all stiff. A steaming kettle was hung over the fire and the delicious scent of coffee had permeated the room.

Most of an hour and several cups of coffee later, I was still feeling annoyed. Yesterday I had just been depressed that I wasn't able to see my friends again, but today I was getting really good and angry about things. I stared at the list of questions I wanted answers to. They stared blankly back.

"Settling in OK?"

I jumped up and whipped around. Standing before me, perfectly out-of-place in my corner of heaven, was a man wearing a disheveled plaid shirt and a mullet. He had left my door open and a slight breeze ruffled his ridiculous hair. He held up an awkward hand, jostling his shoulder bag. "Hey. I'm Ash."

"What are you doing here?" I backed up to lean against my table, hand searching for a weapon of some kind to grab. Then I remembered that I was already dead.

"I'm dead too. Died in a fire most of a year ago. I've been, um… heaven jumping. I was actually looking for Albert Einstein." He glanced around. "I thought maybe he had just remodeled."

"Wait, you can do that?" I forgot my anxieties readily at the prospect of seeing other people again. I was already feeling cramped into my isolated world, however pristine it was.

"Well, _I _can. Because I'm a genius."

"Oh, well, if _that's_ all."

The man- Ash- seemed less uncomfortable now and he entered the room and shut the door behind him. "Hey, you're new, right? Do you mind if I ask you some questions about the world below?"

I looked around me. It wasn't like there was anything he could do to me, and he might even be able to answer some of my own questions. I held up my list. "OK, fine. Let's do an information trade."

* * *

We were seated at my little wooden table, I with a cup of coffee and he with a glass of whiskey. I had my list of questions and he had a laptop which was running some kind of complex program.

"All right, you first." I nodded to him.

"Awesome." He took a gulp of his drink and squinted at me. "I'm going to list some people, and you tell me if you know them." I nodded again. "Sam and Dean Winchester." I shook my head. "Bobby Singer. Ellen and Jo Harvelle." None of the names rang any bells, and Ash slumped disappointedly. "Fine. Your turn."

I looked down at my list and picked an easy one first. I held up the mysterious book which I had discovered in the garden. "What language is this?"

"Enochian, the language of the angels. You can probably read it a little bit since you're here, but even now hearing it spoken will be pretty uncomfortable. I'm running a translation program for 'angel radio' here now." He pointed to the screen of his laptop, which I could now see was analyzing dozens of sound waves. "I can hear everything they're saying. My turn. Have you met any angels?"

I watched a curl of steam rise from my coffee. "Yeah. When I first got here, I was in a sort of entrance chamber thing. I met Joshua, and he explained that I was dead and a… a 'reaper' brought me here. Then he said that I still needed to decide whether to stay in heaven or return to earth as a spirit." Not for the first time, I wondered whether I should have gone back home. "Then Zachariah pulled him away and said that they had business to attend to."

Ash's eyes flew open wide and he leaned forward excitedly. "Tell me about this entrance chamber."

I shrugged and wrinkled my brow as I tried to remember the details. "It was big. Like,_really_ big. Marble floor, stone walls, arched ceiling. It looked like it was lit with candlelight but there weren't any candles. The Bible was carved into the wall, words and illustrations-"

"English or Enochian?"

"English. And there were the stereotypical pearly gates, and lines of other dead people going through."

Ash jumped to his feet. "Perfect. That'll be the news hub." He pulled a piece of chalk from nowhere discernible and started scribbling some kind of symbol on the table.

"Hey, wait! Where are you going?" I stood too, expecting adrenaline to pump through my veins, but nothing came. Probably because I was dead.

"There are some people that I really care about down on the world below," he mumbled as he scuffed out part of his design and fixed a line, "and I want to hear how they're doing and what they're up to."

"Can I come with? I want to ask more questions." And find a way out, but I thought it best to keep that particular scheme to myself. My fingers twitched anxiously at the thought.

He barely glanced up. "What, you want to ask _me_? I can come back, you know."

I grabbed some sheets of paper (including my questions), the Enochian book, and a pen which conveniently appeared on the counter to my left. "Yeah, well, what can I say? I've always been a journalist at heart. I'm going to need some more sources."

"You're a journalist?"

I held out the sleeve of my news coat demonstratively. "I'm covered in ink. Where could I work but a newspaper?"

"Lots of places."

I blinked. "Touché. But if you're looking for information, I'm the person."

He hovered for a few seconds before giving in. "Fine. Follow me." And with that, Ash placed a hand on the symbol and disappeared.

* * *

"Yeah, this is definitely the place," I confirmed as soon as I finished picking myself up off the floor. I pointed to the wall opposite us. "That's where I talked to Joshua and Zachariah." Today the lines of souls were much shorter. The far right queue was made up of three angels. "There's Zachariah. I don't know the others." I watched as the group tightened in what was apparently a tense discussion. Zachariah's wings twitched angrily in a way which would almost be comical if the situation wasn't so serious. Ash and I glanced at each other and surreptitiously joined the line nearest to the angels.

"He has to learn that he can't serve Dean Winchester!" Zachariah explained. One of the other angels nodded.

"That's Uriel," Ash muttered to me. "Heaven isn't exactly what you'd call 'stable' right now. There's a bit of an apocalypse happening on Earth, and God is AWOL. That's why they're all freaking out."

Ignoring that ominous statement for the moment, I strained my ears to hear the rest of the conversation.

"Castiel has become overly fond of the mud monkeys. He is beginning to express sentiment. Surely he must be reminded that his duty to heaven is greater. You agree, Balthazar?"

The third angel shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sure Castiel's intentions are pure."

"Of course, and we all know where that leads."

"Name?" I jumped and realized that I had already reached the front of the line.

"Oh, uhhh…" The same man who had logged my name just the day before- at least, in my heaven it had been a day- glared at me.

"You again? How did you get out?"

I turned to get help from Ash, but he was gone. A barely-noticeable chalk symbol was partially smudged out on the floor. "Brilliant." I tried not to glance over to where Zachariah seemed to have taken notice of me. "I, um… got lost?"

"What is this? How many times is it possible for you to escape in one month?" Zachariah was now standing right in front of me.

I started. A month? No wonder I was already feeling so restless and lonely. And why was he talking like I had already gotten out once? With a glowing, increasingly-annoyed angel staring me in the face, I was feeling even more restless. Unfortunately, I said the first thing that popped into my head. "Yeah, I was looking for Albert Einstein."

Before I could get my butt celestially kicked (I was beginning to realize just how human angels were capable of being), a small explosion went off across the hall and the three angels went running towards it. I bit my lip for a minute, wondering if I shouldn't just try and follow Ash, but then made a dash for the sound as well.

Standing in front of a particularly ornate section of wall were two more angels. Well, one of them one standing. This one was a good nine feet tall and looked downright scary. He shook out his wings and they nearly broke the sound barrier as they flicked open to span about twenty-five feet. The other angel was writhing on the ground, wrapped in some sort of chain inscribed with Enochian characters. One wing protruded from the bindings at an angle at which it surely wasn't supposed to bend.

"Castiel," the huge angel announced before disappearing with an impressive flash.

The one which must have been Castiel squirmed a little more and lay still while his brothers surrounded him. A horrible sort of grating noise clawed at my ears and I winced and clapped my hands over them. Zachariah was laughing, and anger flared within me.

"Well, Castiel, I see Raphael has taught you a lesson already." Zachariah prodded at the broken wing with a foot, inducing a muffled keening noise from the figure on the floor. Castiel angled his head to look at Balthazar, who shrugged a little sadly. "Let's make sure you remember it." With that, Zachariah hooked a hand through the chain which bound Castiel and started dragging him towards the pearly gates.

I felt inexplicably like crying. Watching an angel get dragged away by his comrades was easily the saddest thing I had ever seen, and it somehow broke my faith in the world. I took a step to follow, stumbling more than anything. Then another. Then another, slightly faster. Tears slid down my cheeks and didn't turn into chocolate as they splashed to the marble floor.

"No," I mumbled. I was so broken, so done, because I had died for a bus full of kids and ended up in some messed-up heaven where I was trapped forever and angels fought and bickered and I couldn't even pet my dog because he wasn't dead. I didn't know what I wanted other than to get out of it all. The time that I had been dead suddenly seemed like the month that it had been, then years, then an eternity, and I was running after the angels and shouting my two demands over and over. "No! Stop it! Let me go! Stop!"

Zachariah's eyes flashed with warning as he turned to look at me but I didn't slow until my hands were shoving him aside. I screamed as they burned and sizzled but kept pushing. The angels, totally unaffected, stopped to converse, and I caught a few snatches over my own cries.

"She's gone insane. Again."

"We did the best we could with her."

"Let's send her downstairs."

"Fine, but not all the way. There's no need for that."

"What a shame. Such potential."

One of them snapped their fingers and everything went very bright then completely dark. The last thing that I saw before my ghostly form completely disintegrated was the sorrowful face of Castiel staring up at me from the floor.


	4. In Which a Ghost Becomes a Wanderer

**Author's Note:** Andrea finally meets Sam and Dean! After this chapter they don't appear again until chapter 8, so enjoy it while you can. ;-) With the oneshot style, this is the first story where I can really do this, so here it goes: requests, anyone?

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**Chapter 4: In Which a Ghost Becomes a Wanderer**

"Oh my God! A ghost!" The teenage girl screamed and dropped her latte. It splattered all over the pavement and right through my legs.

"Aw, c'mon!" I glared after her as she ran away down the street.

I had almost been solid that time. As soon as I sputtered back to transparency, the street light above me flickered and popped, causing the rest of the intersection to become invisible for the space of a second. Sometimes I was able to control my effect on electronics and sometimes I wasn't.

I sighed and plopped down on the dilapidated park bench by the power pole that I had crashed into. A deep rusty stripe still ran down it on the street side, but I couldn't see that from where I was sitting. I didn't want to see it. It was the thing that was binding me to this stupid intersection, though I had spent the last six weeks working on expanding my range. I flickered sadly once more as a set of headlights pulled into view.

I watched with detached disinterest as the black '67 Impala stopped at the intersection and a tall young man jumped out. He was probably just one more person concerned to see me sitting by myself at night. The man had long brown hair, and I could tell that he would tower over me even though I was still wearing heels. I was a little surprised when he came and sat down next to me, but not enough to look up.

His soul was uninteresting; a bit dark, a bit bloody, but uninteresting all the same. It glowed from the same position near his heart as any other. One of the perks of being a spirit was that I could see others' spirits, even when they were still connected to a living body. Lately I had been able to see signs of angels (though they were few and far between) and even something that I suspected was a demon.

"Andrea Fosters?"

"That's me."

I noticed how he played with his hands as he spoke. He couldn't seem to stop twining his fingers together, setting them in is lap, spreading his thumbs, then separating his hands and doing it again. "I'm Sam Winchester. Do you mind if I talk to you?"

"Shoot." I scuffed at a weed growing through a crack in the pavement with my heel. The name, which I remembered from my conversation with Ash, had sparked my interest. I decided to let him do his thing and then do some recon of my own.

Sam seemed startled that I didn't object. "Great, thanks. Uh… why are you here?" I wrinkled my nose as I thought of Zachariah and all the things I would like to do to him, but I didn't respond. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"A girl running away from me about five minutes ago yelling 'ghost' at the top of her lungs." I grimaced even more. I figured that if I could get as solid as possible and break free from the place of my death, I might be able to get around and explore the world as I now knew it to be.

"OK, well, this may be hard to accept, but… you're dead." I looked up at him and his face softened. "I'm sorry."

I rolled my eyes and snorted. "No shit, Sherlock." I went back to staring at the ground.

"Wait, you know?" The man glanced over to the car, clearly confused, where another man had appeared. This one was more interesting. He was more attractive, for one thing, with his strong jaw and kind eyes. But he also had a deeper soul. It was torn, and damaged, but somehow still pure. He shrugged at Sam and a light mark glowed on his arm. Now I was definitely interested; this hand print burned bright in a way that I had only ever seen in one place.

"Are you the Winchester brothers?" I asked, ignoring Sam's last question. "Sam and Dean?"

They exchanged an alarmed look before the one I assumed to be Dean shrugged and answered. "In the flesh." Sam stood and strode over to stand next to his brother.

I glared. "Tactful. Nice." Sam elbowed Dean hard but I didn't give them time to continue before I pointed at Dean's arm. "Angel?"

"Yeah…" He looked down. "Wait, how can you see that?"

I pointed to myself. "I'm a spirit. That means I can see both of your spirits, as well as any angelic signs."

Sam furrowed his brow and ignored a surprised look from Dean. "Wait, were- are- you a hunter?" I saw Dean shift something in the hand that I couldn't see. I wondered if it was a gun, but surely that wouldn't do any good against a ghost?

I sighed and spun on my heel to walk over to the Impala. I leaned against it despite an annoyed look from Dean. "There's that word again. I think that this would be easier if I told you my story from the beginning and you can fill me in on what I don't know. Then maybe we can talk about you helping me get away from this intersection." I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping that they would fall for my confident and knowledgeable act and finally give me some answers.

"You can't leave?" Sam glanced around and spotted the blood on the power pole. "Ah. That explains that."

"I just have one question before I start. Which angel did that to you?"

Dean and Sam walked over to join me and we all sat on the hood of the antique car. "His name is Castiel."

"Ah." I kept my face blank while I tried to figure out how all the pieces put together. Castiel had been punished for becoming too attached to Dean Winchester… I looked at the mark again and smirked. Well, what an angel got up to on his day off was his own business, I supposed, though I could see why his brothers weren't exactly happy with him.

"OK, starting at the beginning…" I explained about my dream because I understood now what most of it had meant. Then I told about the black-eyed man by my car, the accident, and the entrance to heaven and my conversation with the angels. I noticed a few significant looks exchanged when I mentioned Zachariah's name which made me think that I wasn't the only one who disliked the winged bully. I skipped over most of the description of my particular heaven to the part where I met Ash.

"Not Ash with the mullet and the plaid?" Dean interjected.

I grimaced. "The very same."

Sam laughed with what looked like relief on his face. "Good old Ash. How's he doing?"

"Productive. He figured out how to jump heavens and translate Enochian with his laptop, and he's going around asking about you guys and some people named Bobby, Jo, and Ellen. You know them?"

"Yeah," Dean said, "they're hunters too. But keep going, we agreed to fill you in at the end."

I continued to explain about following Ash back to the entrance hall and Castiel getting dragged off somewhere.

"That explains the larger-than-usual stick up his ass then," Dean muttered. "OK, here's your information. Mr. Mysterious Eyes was a demon. They're not uncommon, especially since the apocalypse has started. They go around causing mischief and mayhem in the name of Hell, like so." He made a gesture that included me and my eternal intersection. "Hunters… well, they hunt. Demons, ghosts, monsters… lots of crazy fun crap."

I chuckled a little. "Sounds awesome. So, I believe you mentioned the apocalypse?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably while Dean answered, something which I had been trained to immediately pick up on. "Yeah… Lilith was the baddest bitch demon. She broke the seals, released Lucifer. Now we have angels riding our asses to try and save the world. Again."

I stared at them and my introspectiveness caused me to flicker a little. I heard the radio in the Impala behind me switch on and start going haywire, and I hastily focused on quieting it. "Yikes. That... sounds like a problem. And I thought the whole 'you're a ghost' thing was a big revelation."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, sorry about that. We thought you were just another car accident victim in denial, clinging to this world. But kicked out of heaven…" He glanced at his watch, then at Dean. "It's getting late. Is there anything we can do to get her away from this intersection? I think we could really use her help."

I grinned. Two and a half months of being dead and I hadn't been useful in all that time. "And you're going to trust me just like that? You don't know anything about who I was before I died."

"Yeah we do, actually." I wasn't sure if I was more alarmed to see the thick file on me which Dean pulled from his coat or the shotgun which he had to put down to retrieve it. "This may have just been a quick case on our way back to base, but we still did our research." He caught me eyeing the gun uneasily. "That's loaded with rock salt. It repels spirits." He kicked it a little farther out of reach.

"So I gather," I said dryly. Even being over a yard away from the stuff was making me uncomfortable. After a few more moments of silent thought, I stood. "So it sounds like you guys have places to be. Maybe you could leave me some reading material or something until you get back…?" I didn't hold out too much hope of being immediately rescued.

"Actually," Sam started, "since you've already been cremated and heaven isn't letting you back in anytime soon- whatever that's all about- removing this blood should just sever your tie to this place instead of killing you. That would make it really easy." He glanced at Dean, who nodded.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Probably." I ignored the murmured exchange and Dean stood up and clapped his hands. "All right, I'll go get some soap and a brush. But here's the deal." I tilted my head to show that I was listening. "We're going to release you. Sorry about this, but we don't really have the time to research your case at the moment. I want you to go to this address." He scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it to me. "Besides you, there was only ever one spirit that we chose not to lay to rest. His name is Walker and he might be able to help you adjust."

I examined the paper and groaned. "Montana? And I can't drive?"

Sam shrugged. "You can probably hitchhike. You also don't need to sleep anymore, which will save you a lot of time." He coughed a little bit and something like black light flared through his veins. My eyes widened and I stumbled backwards. "What? What's wrong?"

That dark light had been present in traces of shattered glass from the metro bus on the other side of the intersection, and I already had a pretty good guess that it was demon-related. "There's something in you."

Dean sighed and Sam seemed to shrink a little bit. "Long story. You do us a favor and keep your ear to the ground for anything useful and I promise we'll tell it to you sometime."

"How are we going to be able to talk back and forth? It's hard enough for me not to be doing this constantly." I relaxed and allowed the street lights and the radio and headlights of the Impala to spaz for a minute. "It's not like I can use a cell phone."

"We have a spell that we can use to summon you as long as we're able to swipe some of your ashes."

"Some of my-" I shook my head. "Never mind. But what if I need to call you?"

Sam coughed once more, this time harder, and even his eyes radiated that unsettling light this time. Dean looked at him with real concern. "Listen, we really need to go. You'll figure something out. I'm going to drop Sam off at the hotel and I'll be back to take care of the blood."

I sighed without disturbing the air around me at all.

* * *

I had waved goodbye to the Winchesters over half an hour ago, but I was still standing at the corner of 8th and Main. I was one street over from where I had died, and this was the farthest that I had ever been able to make it. One more step and I would know for sure that I was free. I tried to suck in a reassuring breath but all I got was a void in my lungs reminding me of just how insubstantial I was. I never had to breathe, really, but it was a hard habit to break, so I settled for pretending.

Far away and over a wooded hill a light corona of lavender dusted the horizon. The sun would make its appearance soon, and here I was standing on a street corner like an idiot. Regardless of this thought, I waited for a few more minutes and watched the sky fade to pink and the stars disappear.

Without really realizing what I was doing I swirled my hand at my side like I was conducting an orchestra, or perhaps stirring a hot bath. A gentle dust devil of dead leaves and candy wrappers gusted in circles at my feet, proof of my advancing skills as a ghost. I sighed one more time and used pure willpower to deliver a corresponding puff of frosty breath to the air in front of me. It misted and hung there, daring me to step through it.

Gathering my resolve, I did. I lifted one ethereal foot off of the curb and set it onto the crosswalk, then the other, then the first one again, and before I knew it I was across the street. As I marched through downtown and the sun rose in a blazing glory to guide my way, I felt excited for the first time since I had died. Sure, I was leaving behind everything that I had ever known, but that was probably a good thing. Dean had told me enough for me to realize that staying and watching my home deteriorate around me was likely to bring insanity more than anything else. So I allowed a laugh, a little nervous a lot exhilarated, to bubble up through my lips. I lifted my only possession, the meager scrap of paper with my destination written on it, and read the address one more time.

_Missoula, here I come._

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**One More Note:** Please make my day and review?


	5. In Which a Wanderer Becomes Reassured

**Author's Note: **Just a reminder that this isn't (yet) betad; all errors are mine, and I'd love for someone to point them out!

Just FYI, it was a really lovely review that inspired me to post this tonight. Reviews often mean quicker updates!

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**Chapter 5: In Which a Wanderer Becomes Reassured**

Three days of hitchhiking with grimy truck drivers and I wasn't able to get a ride into town. Typical. My last ride had dropped me off in Butte, Montana, so I was trekking across the countryside next to the highway.

I decided to allow myself to fade in order to save energy. Unfortunately, that meant that I wasn't able to carry my address paper any more. I had memorized it a long time ago, but somehow I felt attached to the grubby little slip. It was my only real possession as a ghost. So instead of throwing it away, I summoned a light breeze to carry it along in front of me. All that any passerby would see would be a scrap of litter blowing across an empty field.

That's all that _I _saw for the three days that it took me to walk the rest of my journey. No humans, and no spirits, for that matter. I saw a total of three snakes, one rabbit, fifteen birds of various species, and an unknown number of ants and beetles. All but the insects ran away from me. The larger deer and even bears which I could sense out in the woods stayed away all together.

Finally, six days after I had set out from my home town, I stood in front of the charming old house on the edge of Missoula, Montana where Dean Winchester had directed me. The house itself was a deep peacock blue and the porch and trim were a pristine white. As I shuffled my invisible feet in the dust and resisted the urge to draw my news coat closer around myself, I wondered a little at how much I trusted those two brothers. I had never met them before, and here I was walking across miles of countryside at their advice. Of course, the unexpected friendship- if I could go so far as to call it that- seemed to go both ways. They had released me from that intersection with barely a second thought, and I wondered if they were examining their choices over again like I was.

"Are you going to come in, or are you going to stand there all day?" Startled out of my reverie, I jerked my head up to see a tall young man standing on the large porch. His slightly lilted British accent surprised me a little considering my surroundings, but I cautiously approached him all the same. As I drew closer and he stepped out of the shadow, I could see that he had shoulder-length blond hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His crisp black slacks and crimson sweater looked strange on him, as though he was used to an entirely different style of clothing.

I knew that he must be a spirit because he could see me, but I couldn't help but ask as I bent to pick up my piece of paper. "Are you Walker?"

"That depends on who is asking."

"My name is Andrea Fosters." I hesitated, completely unsure of the etiquette in this sort of situation. I highly doubted that there was any. "The Winchesters sent me."

Walker froze, completely silent. "How interesting," he finally recovered. He graciously stepped to the side and beckoned me into the house. "Do come in."

"Um, thanks." I drifted up the front steps and into the cool shadiness of the house's interior. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the normal house which now stood before me. It seemed much smaller on the inside, but the kitchen and miniscule living room seemed cozy enough. A rickety flight of stairs led to a second floor.

Walker followed me in and easily shut the door behind me. It didn't seem to cause him any effort at all. "All right then Ms. Fosters, you had better tell me your story. Beginning to end, if you please." He gestured to one of two chairs in the living room.

I followed his arm and sank into the chair, half expecting to go right through it and make a fool of myself. I jumped up with a yelp when something in it was… uncomfortable. It felt similar to sitting next to the salt-loaded gun.

"My apologies." Walker hurried to add two more cushions to the chair and I cautiously sat down again. "The seat contains a small quantity of iron. To make it easier to sit without going through, you see."

"Oh." I tried to look like I knew that iron repelled ghosts. Obviously I wasn't very convincing because Walker smiled gently at me as he took his own seat.

"Please don't feel uneasy. If the Winchesters did send you, I'm sure they have an excellent reason. I may be able to help you."

I nodded and began my whole story for the second time that week.

* * *

When I had finished, Walker was silent for a long time. When he finally did speak, it was softly and while gazing at a bookshelf somewhere behind my left ear. "Interesting." That was all he said for another several minutes.

"I… I was wondering…" I began, and he finally made eye contact with me. His piercing blue eyes were vaguely unsettling, but didn't frighten me so much as they should have. I knew that I was dead and had very little to fear. "Can you teach me to control my powers? I know I can move things, and affect some electronics… but not regularly, and it tires me out."

There was that smile again. If I wasn't already so tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally, I probably would have found it quite sweet. As it was, I merely filed the information away for later. "Allow me to show you the things that you might be able to do if you can control yourself." He stood up and so did I, feeling that I wanted to be ready for anything. "First let me show you what I usually look like."

Walker snapped his fingers and, while his face didn't really alter, the difference was astonishing. A black tricorner hat sat low over his ears and peaked in front of his forehead, and his crimson sweater transformed into a uniform with crisscrossing white strips. His neat black trousers remained the same but his shoes were replaced with the mere tatters of some black material. His eyes still sparkled but they were sunk back far behind his pale, prominent cheekbones. A musket and bayonet hung from his belt and, perhaps most disconcerting of all, blood welled from a gaping wound in his shoulder. The bright substance was smeared across his face and through his straw-colored hair, which was coming loose from its tie. I gasped and stepped backwards at the sight of what had become a frightening spirit.

Another snap of his fingers and the young soldier was back to normal. His eyes held a deep sadness. "Walker isn't my real name. I left that behind when I died, and long before, really, when I left my home and my family to be stationed in Lexington." He nodded me back to my seat and I sat, albeit a little heavily. "The Winchesters call me Walker because, before they met me, I just wandered the roads. But I never went insane, never became vengeful, because I didn't really blame anyone for my death."

"Then…" I hesitated but his kind expression urged me to continue. "Then why did you stay here? Why didn't you go to heaven?"

He barked out a short laugh. "Improper burial. Besides, I'm not sure there's any place in heaven for people who have killed as much as I."

I wanted to disagree, but I decided that it really wasn't the time. "So you can change your appearance?"

"It's easiest to switch between your natural appearance and one alternative. Maintaining too many versions of yourself very quickly becomes taxing." Walker snapped his fingers again and he wore a snappy 1940s style suit and long coat. Then he flickered to his uniform but without the blood and wear. "Fortunately, I've had over two centuries to practice."

Seeming to forget his earlier sadness, he allowed his smile to stretch to its full potential. I realized that this was probably because I was sitting there grinning like an idiot. To cover a little I added a round of applause, and Walker bowed neatly from the waist. "That was incredible!"

"That's just to help fit in. There's lots of fun to be had." As he offered me a hand and I used it to pull myself to my feet, I realized three things. First, I didn't need to focus to make contact with him. It was just like grasping someone's hand had been when I was alive. It was a refreshing change. Second, I had to resist the urge to pull him into a hug. This man was the first one to treat me totally normally since I had died, and while I felt that his 18th century values might disapprove, I wanted to cry and hold him and have a moment to deal. Third, I realized that I was already doing him as much good as he would do for me. It wasn't like there were lots of ghosts in the world who travelled around looking for tutors, or friends, for that matter. I suspected that he hadn't been able to show off his skills in decades. "What?"

I realized that I had frozen with a happy, relaxed smile spread across my face, our hands still together. I casually shrugged and dropped my arm back to my side. "It's good to know that being a ghost… I mean, you still have a life, or a death, I guess, here. You don't just hide behind doors and yell 'boo' at people."

The look I received was pleased, if a little strange. "And I'm glad that I'm not the only person to want that."

* * *

**Note:** OK, opinion needed: love interests for Andrea? Respond with what _you_ think, and at the end of the next chapter I'll tell you what _I'm_ thinking.


	6. In Which a Wanderer Becomes a Padawan

**Author's Note:** So this was originally going to be a Cas/OC, but then Andrea went and introduced herself to Walker, and I'm also considering just leaving romance out of it all together. She may well be kick-ass enough as it is. ;-) Anyway, I'm sure you'll know as soon as I decide where this is going.

After this I have two chapters backwritten, but after that I'm not sure what the update schedule will be like. Just bear with me please!

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**Chapter 6: In Which a Reassured Wanderer Becomes a Padawan**

"Do or do not, there is no try."

Somewhere out in the middle of the woods in Montana, I burst out laughing and dropped the stick which I had been trying to levitate. "Jesus, Walker, I didn't even think you had seen those movies."

Miraculously, my companion kept a straight face. "Regardless, you need to stop trying to do it and just do it. You _can_, it's just mental barriers holding you back."

"Gee, that makes me feel so much better." I closed my eyes and focused as hard as I could. In a sensation that I was slowly becoming accustomed to, I felt a warm strength pooling in my chest as I pictured lifting the stick. In a sudden movement, I threw out my arm and released the energy. Walker and I watched in silence as the stick rose fifty feet in the air and sailed out of sight. When I realized that it truly wasn't coming back, I groaned and whipped around. "Stop that!" My teacher was doubled up with laughter.

A burning red anger flared inside me, the likes of which I had never before experienced. The force of it gripped me and I twisted the fingers of my outstretched arm without realizing what I was doing.

"An- Andrea-" I slammed back to myself and released the energy. Walker immediately dropped from his pinned position against a large tree. He fell unsteadily to one knee, eyes wide, and shook his head. "That was vengeance."

"Oh my God, Walker, I'm so… I'm… so…" the world was spinning around me as I tried to stagger over and see if he was OK. "What…"

"Stop." Suddenly he was right in front of me gripping my shoulders to keep me upright. "Andrea, just stand still a minute." My head lolled to a resting position and he peered into my eyes and further, into my spirit, as I often suspected he was capable of doing. A tense sort of relief spread across his face. "Andrea, listen to me. I don't know what triggered that, but most spirits would have been strengthened by it. This is a good sign."

"I'm glad you think so," I muttered, trying to stay conscious while not dry heaving all over Walker. Most ghosts could afford the luxury of overextending because they would remain tied to their body or possessions, but I had no idea where I would end up if I blacked out. Hanging over my head was that half-heard whisper of "all the way downstairs" which one of the angels had saved me from.

I realized that Walker was carrying me, though I had no memory of being picked up. The sunlight got a little brighter and then disappeared entirely and I knew that we must be back at the house. Up the rickety stairs, right turn, through the creaky door and I was lying on my own bed. I had never been more grateful for the iron filings in the mattress because I had no strength left to exert any kind of presence. In fact, I had probably faded to invisibility to all but other spirits as soon as the vengeance had hit.

"Rest," Walker murmured. I barely saw him sit down in a nearby chair before I couldn't help it anymore; I blacked out.

* * *

"Andrea?"

"Nnnnnnggghhhhhhh." I willed myself back into existence for a few minutes and was relieved to see that I was still in my room. On the nightstand by my head were the few positions I had accumulated in the month or so that I had been with Walker. At least, it was a month before I blacked out. I had no idea how long it had been now.

The little piece of paper with my current address rested under a smooth river rock, the first object I had successfully levitated. There was also a picture of me and Walker in the woods, though we appeared only as vague smudges of ourselves.

"Andrea?" the concerned voice asked again. I rolled my face into my pillow and didn't respond. "Miss Fosters?"

"Please don't call me that," I groaned, repeating an exchange which had happened dozens of times in my first few days at the house.

"You can sleep again in a minute. I just wanted to ask if you need anything."

I already felt myself slipping back to unconsciousness, though I felt that 'sleep' was a bit of an overstatement. I was just returning to my natural state of being dead for a few hours. Or days. Whatever.

I did think of something that could make me feel better, though. "Cas," I whimpered a little pathetically. "I want to see Cas."

"'Cas'?" Walker inquired, but it was too late. Everything went black again.

* * *

I snapped back to awareness so fast that I felt like my soul got whiplash. "WHABAHUH!" I yelled cleverly as I jumped to my feet and held my hands up in a cheesy karate pose. "Who- who are you?"

There was a man sitting on my bed. More specifically, there was an angel in a tan trench coat sitting on my bed, and the last piece of my dream suddenly clicked into place. Though his vessel was handsome with his ruffled dark hair, I could see that his true celestial form was cramped up inside. I pointed to him, since he didn't seem interested in starting a conversation himself, and asked "Is that comfortable?"

He held up his arms and examined them. "Surprisingly so." He looked up suddenly. "Can you see my true form?"

I shrugged and finally noticed Walker leaning in the doorway, a stupid grin plastered across his face. He gestured at the angel in response to my "What the Hell?" expression.

"Cas!" I blinked. "You asked to see Cas. I had to call the Winchesters, and then they had to get a hold of him, and then they had to convince him to come see you." I blinked again and Walker took a second try at explaining. "Castiel? The angel that you met in heaven? He goes by Cas, and you asked to see him. You were extraordinarily tired, you may not remember."

I slowly turned so that I was facing both men. Castiel tilted his head and scrutinized me, which wasn't making me feel any more comfortable. "So… this is awkward." I cleared my throat and tried not to start laughing or crying or maybe both. "My dog from when I was alive. His name is Casper. I called him Cas." I watched in pity and mild amusement as the self-satisfied smile slowly slid from Walker's face and he just gaped at me. "Sorry for not being more clear."

"Fascinating," Castiel said, and I realized that he hadn't heard a word I had said. He was too busy staring creepily at me. "There's incredible power in that position, I suppose, which is why they were so interested in you. And a connection, of course. And the ability to see deeper…" All of this was muttered thoughtfully to the light in the middle of the ceiling.

I snapped my fingers, careful not to trigger the associated shape-shifting power. The one time I had succeeded in altering my appearance, I had immediately crumpled up like I must have during the crash. Needless to say it was extremely unpleasant and not an experience I wished to repeat.

The angel startled at the noise. "Well, Castiel. I'm, um, glad that you're OK. Why was Zachariah so angry at you?"

He finally seemed to completely engage. "Oh. You were the one who was there when it happened."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry that you had to see that." Castiel sighed and leaned forward wearily. "Heaven wasn't always so… chaotic. The apocalypse isn't helping. If I could only find God…"

I wasn't sure how to comfort an angel who was losing his faith, so I cleared my throat and tried to change the subject. "So you seemed surprised that I could see your true form?"

Castiel roused himself and stood as Walker raised an eyebrow. "You can see his true form?"

"Of course. Can't you?" My teacher shook his head and a few of my assumptions about being a spirit fell away and were replaced with questions. "Well, you can see souls, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"In a living person. I can see their soul, like a little ball of energy right next to their heart. Sometimes it can tell me things about them."

"Fascinating," Castiel repeated. "All of this is because of your association with the Men of Letters, of course."

"The who?" I asked as the same time as Walker made some sort of non-verbal exclamation.

"The Men of Letters," the angel prompted again. When I still didn't understand, he nodded. "I can see that you don't know. Unfortunately, I am currently on a very important and time-sensitive mission. I have no time to explain at the moment. I will return within the month and alert the Winchesters to the problem. Meanwhile, continue to hone your abilities." His true form glowed suddenly and he disappeared with a noise like fluttering wings.

"Well, that was incredibly helpful," I finally said. The strange revelation about these "Men of Letters" had been more curious than informative; I still had no idea who they were or what my connection to them was. I also didn't know how many of my spiritual abilities were completely unique. I turned to Walker and was surprised to see him glaring at me suspiciously. "What?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said sarcastically. "Maybe it's to do with the fact that an angel just said that you have an 'association' with a secret organization of people who devote their lives to picking apart anything supernatural."

I sighed. "Clearly you know more than I do. Can we just talk? I want to know what's so different about me, and I want to you to tell me whatever you know about these people."

"If that is what you wish." Walker turned and walked stiffly out of my room and down the stairs.

Groaning inwardly, I made to follow him. While Walker had started out as an acquaintance and a teacher, we had grown to become friends. When he wasn't teaching me to levitate objects and control my effect on electronics, we would walk the town and talk about our past experiences. Without Cas or Rod or my other friends from the newspaper, the thought of alienating my only friend was not a pleasant one.


	7. In Which a Padawan Becomes a Hunter

**Author's Note:** First actual hunt and the boys are back in the next chapter! Enjoy, please R&amp;R. :-)

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**Chapter 7: In Which a Padawan Becomes a Hunter**

A shotgun blast and an enraged scream from behind me alerted me to the fact that our "backup" had arrived. I spun on my heel before the trigger-happy hunter could nail me as well.

"Garth!" I yelled, holding my hands above my head as Walker sputtered his way over to stand next to me. "Garth, I'm Andrea. Don't shoot, I'm on the case."

The man, who looked like a lanky teenager in a cowboy hat, spun his shotgun and tucked it back into his belt as he stepped out from behind a large tree. "Looks like I just took care of it."

I looked over to Walker, who was clutching his arm in pain where the rock salt had sprayed it. "Yeah, thank him for that," he spat. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"That would be Walker," I explained to Garth. "He's still here, and he's working with me. He's a little pissed at you right now."

"Oh." Garth looked at the space next to my left ear. "I'm sorry."

Walker huffed from his position to my right and I put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He'll live. Or, not. You know what I mean." A breeze rustled the bushes around us in the darkened woods and Garth put his hand on his gun again. "So. How much did Bobby tell you?"

With the apocalypse revving up and Castiel and the Winchesters completely out of the picture, I had started picking up ghost cases in the towns around Missoula. At first I would just talk to them and see what I could do, but then I realized that the really crazy ones could hurt me since we operated in the same spacial dimension. Or something like that. So I did my research and even managed to contact the Winchesters to get a few phone numbers. The most valuable one had been Bobby, a kind and incredibly knowledgeable man who operated out of South Dakota and had even offered to see what he could find out about the Men of Letters. When this apparent Wendigo case came up, he had called me as the closest thing to a hunter in the immediate area.

Now here I was carrying a blowtorch through the woods at night, a loaded pistol strapped to my leg and my powers completely charged up. Bringing along physical possessions made it more difficult for me to move; I just had to walk along the path. Unfortunately, these things had to be killed with fire, and that kind of conjuring ability was well beyond even me.

Walker had come along at the last minute, probably out of an archaic sense of duty. After explaining to him that I didn't know anything about the Men of Letters, I had regained a little of his trust. He had told me that the most anyone knew was that they were the leaders of the war against the supernatural. Then we had continued our training as usual, with a few exceptions: now I was also trying to teach _him_ some of my skills, like seeing demonic signs. The man was talented but just didn't seem to have the power to do what I could.

My favorite part of the last month and a half had definitely been the stories. Even after two centuries Walker hadn't overcome his day/night schedule, so when we didn't feel like lying on our separate beds in the dark and just thinking, we sat in his tiny living room, built up the fire, and exchanged the details of our lives. Obviously my teacher had much more to tell, and his memories went back to England before the Revolutionary War, but he also seemed to enjoy my stories about my life as a journalist. And when one or the other of us would get homesick, whenever I missed Rob or Cas or Walker was overcome with memories of his dead comrades and family, we would lapse into silence and take comfort in each other's company. Our relationship was something more than instructor and student, more than friends, almost bordering on family.

That's why I was struggling not to get incredibly annoyed at Garth after he had shot Walker and the man was standing there looking like a kicked puppy. "Oh, stop it," I added to him.

"What?" Garth asked, trying to figure out exactly where his thread of the conversation was.

"Nothing. I asked what Bobby told you." Since it was my first real case, my new contact had decided to send in a little backup.

"Not a lot. Possible Wendigo case, location, names of vics… and that a ghost named Andrea Fosters would already be working it."

"Well, that's me." I heaved the blowtorch at Garth, forcing him to take both hands off of his gun to catch it. "Carry that, will you? The iron in the handle is bothering me." My hands now free, I carefully lifted my gun to cover the most vulnerable member of the group.

"Um, sure. So is there anything else I need to know?"

I started walking again and lengthened my gait as the path we were following began to slope gently upward. "Rule number one: don't shoot Walker."

The ghost in question flickered back into general visibility beside me, very pointedly flashing a glare back at Garth. "And don't shoot Andrea either." I noticed that he was back in his classic uniform and wondered whether that was intentional or a side effect of the pain he was in.

"OK, so no shooting my fellow hunters. I think I've got that down." Annoying as he was, Garth's easy smile made it difficult to stay really pissed at him. "Anything else?"

"Walker and I can cover you. Just get close enough to torch the devil."

"Oh, man," Garth chuckled in a genuine disregard for the danger of the situation, "don't go confusing everyday monsters with the devil. It's bad enough to have one of him on the loose."

I stopped dead (no pun intended). "What? The devil's running around?"

"Yeah. Didn't Bobby fill you in on the whole apocalypse thing?"

"Only that there would be a lot more jobs around because the scales were tipping in favor of Hell. And that the Winchesters have a lot to do with it."

"I'll say. They're the ones who accidentally let Lucifer out, which is why they're in so much trouble with heaven at the moment."

I sighed and kept moving towards the Wendigo's suspected lair. "Of course they did. Oh, hey," I asked, trying to be casual, "do you know someone named Cas?"

"Nope. Hunter?"

"Something like that," I ad-libbed. "He passed through a while ago and I was wondering how he was doing."

I noticed Walker shooting me a look and ignored it. After hearing the more detailed version of my trip to heaven, he seemed to have some sort of macho rivalry with the angel inside his own head. No matter how many times I told him that I had met the guy for a total of maybe five minutes, he seemed to have officially established himself as my protector and didn't like the idea of competing with a guardian angel. Frankly, I'd rather have Walker watching my back, because Cas seemed spacey at best. Though very cute.

An echoing clatter up ahead brought me back to my surroundings. Garth had kicked a pebble into the gaping opening of the cave where I was pretty sure our man-eating monster was holing up. I gestured to Garth to go ahead. "We'll cover you," I mouthed again. He nodded and proceeded into the jagged hole in the earth.

We probably trekked through that damp labyrinth for most of an hour before we found any sign that I had been right. Just as Garth was beginning to whine about the cold, we came across a pile of freshly-picked bones. As the human hunter retched at the scent of rotting meat which filled the feeding chamber, I found one more reason to be glad that I was dead before I became a hunter.

"He must be nearby," I whispered, pointing to the still-shining red footprints which scraped their way across the floor and to one of the many caverns branching off in front of us. "Garth, get the blowtorch ready."

He nodded and did some sort of noisy crabwalk towards the dark opening. I rolled my eyes and followed, gun pointing steadily to one side of him. I had had a little practice with a gun before I died, and Walker had allowed me time out of our sessions for "hunter camp," as he affectionately termed my target practice and research.

Suddenly, with a noise like nails being scraped across an entire symphony of chalkboards, the twisted creature leaped down from his perch high up on the wall and directly onto Garth. He screamed, dropping the torch in his panic, and grabbed wildly for his gun. Walker pulled his bayonet from its sheath, but the ethereal weapon only worked against other spirits. I knew that it was a matter of seconds before the Wendigo ripped into Garth's neck, and I wasn't able to get off any shots without risking a bullet to the hunter's head.

I dove for the torch where it had rolled a few feet in front of me and then scrambled to my feet, summoning my powers to crush the Wendigo against the wall. It flew through the air and writhed from its pinned position.

"Um," I began, feeling that some sort of witty comment was called for in the situation, but then the creature bared its blackened teeth at me and I saw the insanity blazing in its eyes. So I just torched it.

When the wretched thing had finished screaming and collapsing into cinders, I turned to make sure that Garth was OK. Walker was smiling happily at me while the other hunter was getting back to his feet. "That wasn't vengeance, was it?"

I tried to remember what had happened in the rush of the last minute. "No, I don't think so. It was more like… logic."

"That's good." Now Walker put a hand on my shoulder, and I noticed that the ragged holes from the rock salt had faded. "That's excellent, in fact. You're making progress."

"Well then," Garth said, eyes watering visibly from the still-present stench. "Shall we skedaddle?"

I could almost hear Walker rolling his eyes at the slang term, but we all made the weary walk back through the maze and out into the open air.

Now that I wasn't so focused on the task at hand, I could take the time to appreciate my surroundings. The clear, cold autumn night in the Montana woods threw everything into a sharp contrast of moonlight and shadow. A few stars were visible in the inky sky above the fiery-colored leaves, faded to shades of brick with the darkness. It was beautiful, and I had completed my first case, and I had met a real hunter (one who wasn't responsible for the apocalypse) and my best friend was beside me and I knew in that moment that I was going to be OK. I didn't need some perfect little heaven to make me happy after death, and I didn't even need to watch my old life from the outside. I was happy with this little corner of regular old planet earth and the people and adventures and flaws that came with it.


	8. In Which a Hunter is Tested

**Author's Note: **It's double-update day! I'm trying to get you guys caught up to my writing so I can get more instantaneous feedback.

In the first chapter, the boys are back in town! (Or, rather, Andrea is.) The second chapter started out as a filler to get through a couple of key episodes and evolved into an important plot point.

* * *

**Chapter 8: In Which a Hunter is Tested**

"You're sure?" Walker asked for the millionth time.

"Yes," I responded softly. "It's been three months since I moved here. I've killed a Wendigo and a werewolf, exorcised three demons, and put five spirits to rest. I think I can handle a visit back to my home town."

"It's just-" He stopped and looked down. The concern in his voice was touching, admittedly, but I really needed to get back home. Besides the obvious reasons of wanting to see Cas and check up on my friends, Bobby had called when he had caught wind of some mysterious deaths in the area. It seemed like an urgent thing, and, while Sam and Dean were near town, I was the only one who could get there in a matter of seconds.

"Walker, I'm coming back," I reassured him again. "If worse comes to worst, I'll be gone two weeks. That includes working the case and hitchhiking back. I can buy a cell phone and some supplies as soon as I get there and I'll be set."

"You might not though. You might get too attached and decide to stay." His eyes finally met mine. "Or you might start travelling around with the Winchesters."

I couldn't lie; the thought had crossed my mind. What better way to keep busy and get hunting experience than travel around with the two best hunters in the country? I loved my new home, but I was all too aware of the eternity that I would have with Walker. I wanted to get the chance to know the famous Winchesters.

"Look," I said, dodging the subject slightly, "I'll call you when I get there. Just to be safe I want to call the Winchesters before I leave, though."

With a deeply depressed expression, Walker gestured towards the phone. "Go ahead. I'll see you when you get back." He trudged upstairs without any further goodbye.

My first instinct was to be angry with him for his cold treatment, but as I dialed the frustration ebbed away. I reminded myself that I was probably the first friend that Walker had had in two centuries. Could I really blame the guy for wanting to keep me safe and nearby?

Dean answered his phone on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Hey Dean. It's Andrea."

"Oh, hey!" I rolled my eyes. It was the sort of greeting that I had given to plenty of half-forgotten acquaintances at parties. "What's up?"

"Bobby called me, said there was a case in my hometown and you might want some help. Are you guys on your way?"

"Yeah. When can you be there?"

"Seconds. I think I can just jump through the connection to my ashes or the intersection."

"Awesome. Go ahead."

I looked out into Walker's- our- small yard as the sun rose over the hills to illuminate it. "When I get there, I won't have a phone or money or anything. I hope you guys can get there soon."

"We're less than an hour away."

"Great. See you there." I hung up the phone, proud of myself for the complete lack of static. That skill had taken the longest to perfect of any I had worked on with Walker. Speaking of, I wondered once more whether I should go seek him out and say a proper goodbye. I turned around and walked a few steps towards the stairs, but the eerie sound of music wafted down towards me. Walker had put on his old records, a clear sign that he didn't want to be disturbed.

I sighed and closed my eyes, telling myself that I would see him soon enough anyway. When I found that deep inner focus which granted me access to my powers, I could feel a gentle tug pulling me home. I had never encouraged it before, worried that it would snap me back to my intersection if I blacked out again, but now I plucked at it curiously. I flickered and caught a glimpse of a familiar road. Encouraged, I lifted both hands in front of me and imagined tugging sharply at the tie. With a breathtaking leap and a moment of shuddering darkness, I was suddenly standing at my old intersection.

The battered Impala was parked against the sidewalk and two welcome figures leaned against it. "Hey!" Then turned to look at me and I waved, running over. I almost hugged them both, but I resisted the urge. "I thought you were an hour out?"

"We were," Sam said, clearly puzzled. "We've been here waiting for an hour."

I glanced down at myself to see that I was shaking visibly and glowing translucent. "Oh. I guess it took me longer than I thought to get here."

Dean grinned reassuringly. "No problem. So you've settled in OK with Walker?"

"Yeah," I replied, wondering if we really had time for small talk. "He's been teaching me a lot, and I have a few tricks of my own." Dean nodded casually but didn't say anything else. "Hey, um, random side note, but have you ever heard about the Men of Letters?"

"Nope," Dean responded after glancing at Sam. "Why?"

"Bobby and Castiel haven't mentioned it?"

"No," Sam said this time. "Have you seen Cas?"

I shrugged. "It was a couple of weeks ago. He mentioned them in passing; I thought you guys might know who they were."

"No such luck." Dean finally stood and opened the back door of the Impala, gesturing me in. "Come on, we've got a phone and some money for you. We'll fill you in on the way there."

"On the way where?" Bobby hadn't given me very many specifics of the case.

"Your old apartment."

* * *

"When a demon makes a deal," Sam explained, "they take your soul as payment after ten years. Sometimes they collect themselves, but usually they send a hellhound and it drags you downstairs."

"Hell?"

"Yeah."

I examined my new fake ID in the evening light shining through the windows of the Impala. "OK, so someone in my building made a deal and their soul got collected. What can you do about it now?"

"Not just someone." Dean tossed a heavy file back to me as he drove. "Five people so far, and they were all collected within two days of each other. Now, sometimes that happens. A demon stops into a hotel or a bar, makes a bunch of deals, collects all at once. But these five people were scattered around the country ten years ago. It doesn't make any sense."

"Do your cases usually make sense?"

"Fair point."

I looked up from the file to examine Sam again. So far, I hadn't seen any demon traces in his blood, but I wanted to keep an eye on him. I could tell that he and Dean were both exhausted. I flipped through a few more pages in the file, praying not to see any familiar faces, as I continued to carry the conversation. "So have you guys worked any interesting cases recently?"

"Well, we got trapped in TV land by the archangel Gabriel, then summoned to a fan convention for _Supernatural_."

"Aren't those some cheesy ghost hunting books?" I asked, remembering seeing them on the shelf at an all-night gas station on my way to Montana.

"They also happen to be about us and written by a prophet," Sam explained with more than a little bitterness in his voice.

I grinned. "This promises to be an interesting story. I pick up a little about you boys on the grapevine and from Bobby, but I'd like to know what you've been up to. Especially if we're going to end up working cases together and I'm supposed to be helping you with the apocalypse."

As we drove around town waiting for it to get dark and for Sam and Dean to finish their burgers, I read the file and the two brothers took turns telling stories about their most recent cases. They were some of the most interesting stories I had ever heard, and I was determined to buy the book series as soon as I got home. Rather, back to Missoula, I reminded myself. I was home right now.

I did pause when I recognized one of the faces in the thick stack of papers I was reading. It was the ever-polished, blonde, heavily-eyelinered Marcy Graham who worked behind the desk every morning at my old apartment building. I had seen her on the morning of my death.

_Just like every morning, the shiny blonde woman behind the reception desk looked pointedly at the clock as I ran past. "Running a little late, Andrea?"_

_"Shut up." I winked to let her know I wasn't actually mad. Just like every morning._

"You OK?" I looked up to see Dean's concerned eyes in the rear view mirror and I realized that I had made some sort of sad noise.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "I'm fine." I flipped to the next page and was confronted with the grizzly image of Marcy, bloody and torn, lying on the ground in a circle of police tape. Feeling a little sick, I set her pages to the side and continued reading about the next victim.

"Hey, I hear you ganked a Wendigo," Sam finally prompted me in an obvious effort to divert my attention.

"With a lot of help from Walker and a hunter named Garth," I lied.

"Wendigo was the second case Dean and I ever worked alone together," Sam explained hurriedly. "It was in Colorado."

And so the stories continued, reaching farther and farther back into the boys' career until I had read the file three times and felt comfortable enough to just sit back and listen. We were parked outside my apartment building, but all of the residents had been relocated. Our best bet being to wait and see if anything strange happened to the building itself, we waited long into the night as the words flowed.

I think that the stories were a way to distract me at first, maybe to keep me focused away from anything that could make me vengeful, but then the Winchesters really got into the telling. I learned more about Tessa, and I told them that she was the reaper who had brought me up to heaven. After I knew everything possible about Azazel and Lilith and Meg (and a few enigmatic bits about a demon named Ruby), the tales cast out to interesting spirits who had special cases of their own. In the early hours of the morning, the boys couldn't think of another story to tell me, so I started to describe my own hunts and interactions with spirits. Then I told them about how my powers differed from those of average ghosts. We discussed the more interesting points of that for a while, though I didn't describe my meeting with Castiel. Finally, I was reduced to recounting stories which I had collected during my time at the newspaper.

I finally realized that they would have been taking shifts sleeping by now if I wasn't there, so I quieted as the sun began to peek over the horizon. It seemed like our stakeout had achieved exactly nothing (except that I felt like I finally knew something about the Winchesters) until a tall figure strode past the car and towards the structure.

"Who's that? I thought they closed the building," I asked, pointing.

"Who?"

"That tall man there."

Sam and Dean shook their heads and I realized that they couldn't see him. My suspicion was confirmed when another woman simply materialized next to the first figure.

"I think they're reapers," I whispered. They certainly didn't look like ghosts. Without waiting for a word from the Winchesters, I slid out through the door and strode towards them.

"Hello?" I called, my curiosity overcoming my caution.

The woman turned around, her jet-black bob swinging, and smiled. "Ah, Andrea. You can help us with this, I'm sure."

I cocked my head and made a wild guess. "Tessa?"

"I see my reputation precedes me." She beckoned me forward as the tall man, also dressed all in black, knelt down.

"Here, doggy! Here puppy puppy!"

I stifled a laugh at the sight of a reaper trying to call a hellhound with the same tactics I might use to call Cas, but to my surprise, a low bark responded from inside the building.

"He's still here, I told you!" The reaper grimaced. "I'll leave you two to take care of it." And with that he disappeared.

I looked at Tessa. "It's a hellhound, isn't it? What help am I going to be?"

"It's not yet a hound," she explained. "Much like demons come from the twisted souls of humans, hellhounds are the spirits of dogs who long for their masters so much after death that they are driven insane with grief. It helps," she added, "if the creature is already in mourning before its death."

I stared at her blankly for a minute, and she stared back like there was something I should have figured out by now. Then it all clicked into place.

"No!" I cried, horrified. "You're saying that Cas did this? You're insane!"

"No," Tessa quietly assured me, "Casper is going insane. He refuses to come with us and is mad with grief for you. You must go to him, and then he may choose to stay with you or come with me."

I gulped, holding back tears. I was touched more than I could say by how deep my bond with Cas truly ran, as well as horribly guilty that I hadn't returned to him sooner, both for his sake and the sake of the people who he had now killed. I took a trembling step forward, then threw caution to the wind and ran inside.

The lobby of my old building was painted maroon with gory splashes on the walls and floor. Police tape blocked all hallways and doors, including the one through which I had just snuck. Ignoring the gruesome image, I whistled.

"Here Cassie!" I called. "C'mere, boy! Brekkie! Din-dins! Wanna go for a walk? I'm home!" I tried every phrase which had ever made Casper run to me with excitement. A cautious silence responded, then a tentative sniff from somewhere up the stairs to my right. Then there was a mad scrabbling of claws and I was being thrown to the floor by my sweet dog.

Pinned against the ground with his hysterically excited body on top of me, I encircled him with my arms and buried my tearstained face in his fur. The frightening red glow and foaming spittle which made him such a terrifying image slowly faded as he shrunk back to his normal size, and finally I was wrapped around my little chocolate lab with the big brown eyes.

While I wasn't sure they were audible to the human ear, the euphoric keening noises Casper was making lifted my spirits higher than they had been since I had died, even with Walker. "It's OK, buddy," I sobbed. "I'm here. No more killing people, I'm here and I'm gonna take care of you."

Casper nuzzled his head into my lap as I sat up and he curled neatly into my lap. Tessa's head appeared around the corner, and she smiled, relieved. "I see that he has made his choice. Just be warned that one more relapse and we'll have to take him away."

I nodded, wide-eyed. "I understand. That won't happen."

She disappeared just as Sam and Dean finally finished picking the lock and skidded into the room. I flickered into visibility, still grinning and crying like a maniac with a crazy dog in my lap.

"It was my dog," I whispered, too emotionally worn to explain any more for the moment. "It was Casper. But he's OK now, and Tessa said I could keep him."

The two brothers exchanged a surprised and concerned look but didn't comment. Finally, Dean suggested, "Maybe we should head to a hotel. We can get you and Casper a room."

I nodded, wiping my face, and struggled to my feet. Casper never moved more than a foot from my side, even when it meant crowding into the backseat of the Impala. I knew that Dean would be concerned about having any kind of dog, even a dead one, in his precious car, and that both brothers would require a more detailed explanation later. But for now, I realized that I hadn't called Walker yet, and I just wanted some time to myself with Casper.

* * *

"Look who finally decided to call." Walker sounded annoyed, but, judging by the fact that he had answered on the first ring, he had been waiting by the phone.

"Sorry."

"Sorry?" he yelled, and I held the phone a little farther away out of habit even though the sound mostly just passed through me. "Sorry? You were going to call when you got there, Andrea! I'm guessing that you're only calling now because the case is finished."

I dodged his accurate guess. "Look, it took me longer than I thought to get out here, OK? I am sorry that I didn't call, but things happened fast."

There was an injured silence on the other side of the line. "Well…" I sat down on the bed while I waited for him to find the words and Cas put his head in my lap. "Well, are you at least coming home soon?"

A hearty laugh sounded through the flimsy motel wall and I smiled. Even though the boys had started out wishing for sleep and quiet, their post-hunt rowdiness had led to a beer and burger run and them sitting down to watch _Mystery Men_ on TV. I planned to join them as soon as I got off the phone, though I certainly wasn't about to tell Walker that.

"Andrea?"

"Oh, um, I don't know. I guess it depends whether there are any other cases in the area."

"_Andrea._"

I sighed deeply. "Walker, you don't have to worry yourself over me. I'll be home as soon as I can."

"Just…" He trailed off again and I began to feel bad for him. I realized how it must look to him, my leaving our relatively quiet life to go adventuring with the Winchesters.

"I will come back, Walker," I assured him like I had… 24 hours ago? Had it really been an entire day? "Since I died, you're my best friend and the closest thing that I have to family. Missoula is home now, and I'm not going to give that up for anything. Besides," I continued as another loud laugh echoed from next door, "it's not like the Winchesters will be around forever. When everyone else is up in heaven, you and I will still be here."

"I know," he sighed, and the bitterness had retreated from his voice to be replaced with resignation. "And I understand the urge to wander. I just miss you."

I smiled. "I miss you too. Hey, let me tell you about the case!"

* * *

After another half an hour, I finally hung up the phone and was feeling a little less exhausted. It wasn't like eating or sleeping was an option, so I crept out of my door into the mid-morning warmth and around to the Winchesters' room, cautiously pulling Cas along with me.

We both slipped easily through the door without knocking, much to the initial alarm of the brothers, but they were too tired and full to reach for any salt or iron before they identified me.

"Hey Andrea," Sam greeted me.

"Hey." I stopped awkwardly, one hand still on Cas's collar and the other nervously fingering my sleeve. "Do you mind if I, um, join you?"

"'Course not," Dean responded without a second thought, moving over to sit on the bed with Sam so that I could have the chair. With some amount of focus, though less than it would have taken me two months previously, I settled into it to watch a movie with the Winchesters.


	9. In Which a Hunter Becomes a Friend

**Chapter 9: In Which a Hunter Becomes a Friend**

Over the wide plain, a fantastical storm was gathering. Deep purple clouds whipped in faraway patterns as deep bowls filled with rain threatened to touch down as tornadoes. Stark against the twilight, lightning flickered an unnatural green and illuminated the deserted town. I stood, secure in my death, in the nonexistent shelter of a fitfully tossing oak tree.

"Damn," I murmured to myself as an enormous bolt of lightning caused an instantaneous and deafening rumble of thunder. "They're in trouble."

Even though I knew it would be impossible to hear over the tempest, I strained my ears for the crack of the Colt. I was seriously regretting letting the Winchesters talk me out of joining them on the attack.

_"What, you think I can't be any help?" I asked, feeling injured._

_Sam looked at me seriously. "Andrea, after hunting with you for a month, I would trust you with my life. Honestly. But you're our secret weapon."_

_"We still don't know what's up with your special ghosty powers," Dean added. "If this doesn't work, we've still got you up our sleeves." He winked with confidence that I suspected he didn't really feel. "We need you to have our backs, so you'd better keep training."_

_I sighed and shook my head, knowing full well that I was no weapon. "I guess you're right. I mean," I added with a hint of a smile, "if four hunters and an angel with the Colt can't get him, I'm not going to be much help."_

_It was the first time I had been in Bobby's house, and I was appreciative of the honor despite the somber atmosphere. I was leaning against the kitchen counter as Sam and Dean grabbed more beer out of the fridge for themselves and Bobby._

_"Awww," Ellen laughed from the next room, and I wandered through the doorway. A steadily-growing pile of empty shot glasses cluttered the table between Ellen and Cas, and Jo leaned casually against the wall behind her mother._

_Laughing, I found a seat on the only chair not currently covered in books. "And here I thought you people never had any fun."_

_Before Cas could interject with his usual gloomy outlook, Jo laughed and tossed me a beer, which I had to focus to catch. "Really? Then Sam and Dean have _not_ been doing a good job introducing you to the life."_

_I cautiously opened the beer and took a sip. I squeezed my eyes shut but managed to contain the liquid somewhere in the region of my stomach by only partially solidifying my form. It was all very complicated and took an incredible amount of strength, but I did it._

_"BOO!" Somehow, Dean had gotten behind me. In my split second of astonishment, I gasped and the beer in my stomach sloshed straight through me and onto the chair, where it splattered and began dripping onto the floor. There was a moment of awkward silence._

_"Oh my God," Ellen finally chuckled before breaking into raucous laughter. "The NOISE it made though…" The rest of the room joined in, and even Cas looked mildly amused. After a minute, I couldn't help but laugh as well. The total absurdity of the situation reached me at about the same time as Jo slid to the floor from lack of breath and Ellen almost fell out of her chair._

_"I don't think God had anything to do with it…" Cas muttered, horribly confused, and we all broke out into fresh gales of laughter._

Now I watched the heavens converge on the small Missouri town as Lucifer tried to raise Death, and I wished to God that I was standing with my friends.

"Andrea?"

The small voice behind me sounded so painfully familiar that I couldn't help but turn around. "Jo. I'm so sorry."

We embraced for a moment, each trying to find comfort in our short friendship. It was less than a minute before Ellen appeared, too, and took Jo's hand. It was the first time I could really admire their souls, and admire I did; not only were they pure, but also resilient. Even in death, I knew that they would make it through anything.

"Say goodbye to them for us? To Bobby?" Ellen asked softly.

I nodded, unable to speak, and they disappeared into oblivion. I comforted myself with the knowledge that they would find Ash and all their friends who had died in the job, but it was a hollow comfort.

* * *

_Three Weeks Later_

"Wow you guys, _now_ what happened?" I demanded irritably. Honestly, I was just trying to hide my apprehension. The only reason the Winchesters would summon me without calling first was a real emergency. I had only just gotten back to Montana after two months on the road, which they knew very well, and I hadn't even seen Walker yet.

I was in one of their usual crappy motel rooms, and it took me approximately three seconds to realize that the source of their concern was the angel sprawled on the bed. Cas's nose had a rusty shadow under it from an ongoing nosebleed and he was pale.

"Time travel," Sam offered up as I hurriedly knelt at the angel's side. "It took a lot out of him." While I continued to examine him as well as I could, they filled me in on how Anna had tried to prevent their birth and they had been saved by the Archangel Michael.

I whistled. "You two are certainly up to your ears in shit, aren't you?" A few months ago I might have paused before swearing, but the boys were beginning to rub off on me. I still didn't know what Walker would think of my new habits.

"Anyway, we wanted to make sure he would be OK. We thought you might be able to offer a better diagnosis than we could."

"Well, I appreciate your faith," I started, then realized that it might not have been the most appropriate phrase under the current circumstances. "I'll take a look."

Cas's angelic form was shrunken and… trembling? Yes, I confirmed with a harder look, the tips of his wings quivered weakly even though his vessel was positively comatose. Even the radiant light which usually emanated from him was noticeably dimmer.

I sighed, trying to think of anything which might heal an angel. Even though I had been reading through stacks of lore, including the Bible for the first time since my childhood, nothing came to mind. I decided to start guessing with things that couldn't hurt, even if they didn't help.

"OK, not 100% sure what I'm doing here, but you're right; he's in a bad way. So bring me… some holy water and a rosary, to start."

Sam jumped up and dug through his satchel, returning a moment later with the items. I unscrewed the cap on the glass jar which held the water and dipped my fingers into it, noting the silvery light so similar to that of anything angelic.

Very, very carefully, I lowered my hand to an approximation of where Cas's heart was, and set it on his chest. Nonplussed by the lack of response, I waited a moment before allowing my hand to sink through his vessel to rest gently on his retreated true form.

The touch of the holy water sent a tremor through his body, but I was gratified to see that his wings twitched as if to shake them out a little. The glow near his heart remained after I pulled away my hand.

Completely unconscious now of Sam's and Dean's watchful stares, I delicately placed the rosary where I had dabbed the holy water. With total focus, I gently tilted the angel's head upwards and poured a small quantity of the liquid down his throat. After a few small doses trickled down, Cas swallowed by himself and I smiled with relief.

His eyes still didn't open, but I allowed him to drink a few more sips of the water before I retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom, dampened it with the pure liquid, and laid it across his forehead, which seemed too warm to my touch.

"Do you still have a hex bag to ward off demons?" I asked, holding out my hand, and the object was placed carefully in my palm. I nestled this into one of his pockets as I explained. "If he's spending energy shielding himself, then he's not putting all of it towards healing. Hopefully he'll realize that it's there."

Dean nodded thoughtfully and Sam just watched as I carefully loosened Cas's tie and collar to help his shallow breathing, dragged him all the way onto the bed, propped his head comfortably on pillows, and removed his shoes.

When I felt that I was done, I draped a light spare blanket across the angel and stepped back to view my handiwork. He had barely moved, but his glow was slowly returning to normal and his breathing was deepening.

"I feel like you guys could have done most of that," I finally complained. "I mean, you could have at least put him all the way on the bed." The brothers just stared at me and I held up my hands. "Before you ask, it was wild speculation. And logic."

Before they could reply, Cas groaned softly. I walked over to the thin pad of paper on the nightstand and wrote down the name of a medicine. "If he has a headache when he wakes up, don't give him anything that'll act as a blood thinner. This should ease the pain and help him go back to sleep."

"You're not staying?" Sam asked as Dean made to sit down next to the angel and keep watch.

I looked down at Cas, which was a mistake; his brow had furrowed and he was making little moaning noises which tugged at my heart. "Nah," I deadpanned. "I was actually about five minutes from home when you guys summoned me, so now I have to call Walker and explain that I'm going to be another three days."

Before I could make it to the door, Cas's eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright. I moved to stand in front of him, concerned that he would break his vessel somehow.

"Cas?" Dean asked, clearly concerned, and the two brothers joined me.

Castiel's eyes met mine. They were wide with… recognition? The man looked terrified.

"Cas?" This time it was I who spoke.

"Oracle," the angel gasped, nudging himself backwards on the bed.

Sam and Dean glanced at me. "What?"

"It's her. She's the Oracle."

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**DRAMATIC MUSIC!** I have most of the next chapter written, but what's the feeling on this new development? As always, please R&amp;R!


	10. In Which a Friend Becomes an Oracle

**Author's Note:** You guys are now officially caught up with my writing! I don't usually post mid-week, but it's going to be about a week before I can post again and I want you guys to give me lovely reviews and suggestions between now and then.

Also: sorry for being so evil. :-)

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**Chapter 10: In Which a Friend Becomes the Oracle**

It was another six days before I got back to Missoula. After Cas's terrified announcement, he had gone unconscious again, so it had been up to me and the Winchesters to try and piece together any lore we could about this "oracle." Then I had a giant stack of reading and several burning questions to carry back with me.

"So are you up at the university?" the man driving the truck asked, and I glanced down to see that one of the ancient Greek books was poking out of my bag.

"Um, yeah," I improvised. "Yeah, my classes start today but my ride had to ditch me."

He nodded, apparently content with my answer, and the rest of the trip was silent. Before my death, I would have been uncomfortable at best riding around the country with a series of strangers, but I knew that now no one could hurt me. I was just kind of bored.

"This the place?" the man asked, effectively bringing me back to my surroundings.

"Yeah," I said happily, the familiar sight of the deep blue house raising warm feelings inside me. "Thanks so much for the ride, my cousin's going to be so happy to see me."

I hadn't even finished speaking before a crimson shape had appeared in the doorway, and I grinned. With one last wave and thanks over my shoulder, I practically leapt out of the truck, trailing my books behind me, and ran up to the glowing white porch.

Walker held his arms wide, beaming, and I jogged up to give him an enormous hug. I hadn't seen him since I had left to solve my first case with the Winchesters, and that had been weeks. We had talked on the phone, of course, but I missed being home here more than I cared to admit.

"Long time no see," he was forced to mumble into my shoulder when I wouldn't let go.

"No kidding," I chuckled. "God, I missed you." We finally separated and I was rewarded with a booming bark and the sight of a wagging tail. "Cas!"

When I had been called back suddenly to deal with Castiel's injuries, Casper had been with me in Montana. In his confusion, he had followed my scent to Walker's. My friend called me and I asked him to keep an eye on my dog.

I hugged Casper for a while too, then stood up, still smiling. To my surprise, Walker embraced me again, and after a moment I laughed and hugged him back. The show of affection was unusual for his 17th-century character, but I rolled with it, too happy to be home again to worry.

After everyone had gotten their fill of hugs and I had convinced Cas to stop jumping up on me, I picked up my book bag and walked inside to drop it onto the kitchen table. Walker raised an eyebrow; he knew very little about our theories so far. He strolled over and picked up one of the heavy tomes. On the cover was the classic painting of the Oracle at Delphi by John Collier, her red and bronze robes flowing gracefully over her tripod stool. The steam from the crevice at her feet and the shadow of her hood partially obscured her face.

"So, Castiel thinks that you are this Oracle?" Walker asked, clearly skeptical.

I shrugged. "He was too weak to say much, and then he left as soon as he woke up. But the Winchesters and I have a few theories." I opened a couple of books to strategically-placed sticky notes. "Look at this: there were hundreds of Oracles over the years. Sometimes there were several at once, but usually one of them was more accurate. They could be rich or poor, young or old, educated or ignorant. It was all based on their talent for interpreting the word of Apollo."

Walker nodded in understanding and I pointed to an illustration from a cracked old piece of pottery. Holding up a finger, I undid my wavy ponytail and fixed it into a low bun before pulling my hood halfway up. I turned so that he could see my profile. "Look familiar?"

Walker furrowed his brow. "Are you really suggesting that you are some… reincarnation of this Oracle? Surely they could not all have been the same person!"

"Hunters have made contact with the Greek gods before," I continued, determined to relate all of the facts before being shot down, "and they've added to the mythology since the fall of the empire. For one thing, they've discovered that there was always a huge hunt around Greece to find the next Oracle, even though the priests would make it look like they had just chosen someone from Delphi. For another thing, this concept of an Oracle has jumped around through most civilizations, _but never simultaneously_." Walker still looked extremely skeptical. "Don't you see? There are prophets who are tuned to angel radio… what if Oracles are connected to the pagan gods?"

"I don't know, Andrea."

"Look, just help me read," I pleaded, "and hopefully soon we'll be able to get hold of Cas and find out what he meant."

"Fine." I smiled; it's not like we had anything better to do, and this _was_ important. I knew that he would give in.

* * *

A half an hour later, I was deeply immersed in the academic debate about what gases from the crack in the earth at Delphi had allowed the Oracle- or Pythia, as she was more commonly called- to go into her trance-like prophetic states. Walker was focusing so hard that he was back in his normal form, blood, uniform, hat and all. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and smiled at the concentrated frown tugging at his lips.

"Hmm," he grunted, and I leaned over to see what he had discovered. Following the words on the page with his finger, he read. "One of Pythia's more famous prophecies was to an unknown soldier, uncertain of whether or not he should venture out into battle. In reply to his question, she stated 'Go, return not die in war.'" Walker glanced down at me where I was scrutinizing the page. "You see? The meaning depends entirely on whether you place the comma before or after the 'not'."

"I can see how that would be confusing," I mused, absorbed once again in a study of what percentage ethylene gas is needed to induce a hallucinogenic state.

Walker laughed hollowly. "That reminds me of some advice I once received. And look at me now." He glanced down at himself and apparently realized that he had shifted form, because he immediately switched back to his sweater and slacks.

"You don't need to do that," I murmured without taking my eyes off of the chart I was examining. "It's just me; you're not going to scare me."

"I did when you first came," he said quietly, and I looked up. Walker's eyes held that deep, sad expression which I had come to recognize as longing for life.

I thought about reaching over to put my hand on his where it had clenched into a fist on the table, then hesitated. I wasn't exactly sure where we stood; I remembered the enthusiastic hug from earlier and my own hand twitched nervously. Had I been missing something obvious?

"Well, you have to remember that I had never met another ghost," I eventually responded. "I was just surprised."

Even as I said it I knew that it was a weak excuse; Walker _had_ scared me, and he knew it. However, he sighed and changed back. Honestly, this was how I pictured him when I was away: fingers pushed through hair in concentration, tri-corner hat tilted back on his head, formerly-crisp uniform crumpled and creased while crimson liquid trickled down his chest. I suppressed a shudder at my own insensitivity to his appearance, but, in fairness, this was just how he was. It was his true form, and I had come to associate it with him.

"Andrea?"

I suddenly realized that I had been staring and dropped my eyes back to my book.

"Is something wrong?"

I shook my head resolutely, determined to worry about my personal problems later. This was serious, life-or-death, end-of-the-world type stuff that I was dealing with here.

A cold hand closed over my wrist with more force than was probably necessary and I looked up, startled. Walker's intense blue eyes peered into my own, clearly distressed.

"Why don't you answer me?"

_"I can't," I cried out, squirming against the uncomfortably-hot fingers clasping my arm. They were bound to leave a burn._

_Zachariah scowled. "I think that you can, you little bitch!" he practically yelled in my face. "What do you not understand about the apocalypse? Or did Lucifer already get to you?"_

_I sobbed, confused and terrified. "I don't know anything! I'm a journalist, I live in a crappy apartment building and I drink too much coffee. I saw a man with black eyes on the day I died, he tried to drive a bus into a bunch of kids and I was just trying to save them! Please," I screamed as something pierced horribly into my back, "please! I swear, I swear, I swear…" I trailed off as the burning pain became too much and I was left gasping and whimpering._

_The towering angel sneered. "This is the problem with the pagans, isn't it? The one source of their prophecy, and she's not even protected. I mean, in your past lives, do you have any idea how often men would become infatuated with you and simply steal you away to-"_

_The pain retreated for a fraction of a second, barely allowing me to relax before it ripped through me again and the painful sound of Zachariah's voice was drowned out. It may have been by the roaring in my ears; it could have been my own screaming._

_I hated myself for begging the way I did. "Please, please!" I cried until I was hoarse. But the restraints around my torso and legs only tightened, the angel's yells only grew louder and I only became more desperate. As a soul-rending wave of agony washed over me, it became too much and I simply slipped into a deep calm._

_"Joshua," Zachariah called somewhere in the faded background. "Her memory is resetting again. Bring her back to the entrance chamber and allow her to pass through again. This time, make sure that that note is left! If she has any flashbacks, I want her to be able to write them down and send them to us."_

_"No," I whispered, horrified at the idea of forgetting what had happened. What if I allowed myself to walk into the same trap again? "No. No. I won't forget. I won't…"_

_"Damn it," I moaned as I looked around me. "I'm definitely dead." I just couldn't figure out why the afterlife looked so much like Hogwarts._

With a deep, shuddering breath, I opened my eyes to see the familiarly pristine chandelier which hung over Walker's dining room table. I was lying on the ground, having slipped through my chair. Flexing my fingers and toes, I felt fine, so I gingerly tilted my head to the side.

Walker was curled up against the wall, hands over his ears and wide eyes trained on the floor between his feet. At my sudden silence, he looked up. The terror and concern in his eyes were earthshattering. When he saw that I was alert, he gasped and crawled to me on hands and knees to take my head in his hands.

"Andrea," he whispered, tears tracking through the grime on his face. He looked terrible; the wound in his shoulder was gushing and his sunken cheeks were positively skeletal. I was surprised at myself for noticing these details after what I had just experienced, but I guessed that it was my way of coping. Rule No. 1 of journalism: observe everything. "Andrea. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he repeated before choking and falling silent.

"For what?" I asked softly as I made to sit up, but his hands held me fast.

"I did something. I don't know, I upset you."

"What happened?" I doubted that he would be this distraught if I had simply lost consciousness. Walker shook slightly with a silent sob, and apprehension sparked within me. What had I done? What had I said?

"You… you fell. And then you started screaming." He glanced up at the old-fashioned clock which hung on the wall. "That was over an hour ago." I noticed Cas lurking anxiously in the corner, and I smiled at him to let him know that it was OK for him to come forward. He loped over, head low, to lie down protectively at my feet. "I'm sorry, at first I tried to help, to do something, but… you pushed me away, you yelled, you said… things. I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry."

I sat up this time, pulling gently out of his grasp, and turned to face him. "Stop apologizing, it's not your fault. I just remembered something that my memory had blocked."

Walker still looked horribly traumatized, so I scooted forward to wrap him in a hug. He embraced me tightly and I closed my eyes, relishing the moment. Things made much more sense now, but the contact still reassured me. Torture is not a pleasant thing to suddenly remember.

"Zachariah tortured me," I explained, and Walker suddenly jerked back, eyes blazing. "He knew that I was the Oracle, he wanted me to tell him about my powers and anything I remembered about the past. He wanted help fighting Lucifer."

"The rascal!" Walker interjected hotly, reverting to the most offensive slang from his time that he could bring himself to utter. I suppressed a laugh at the word, even under the serious circumstances.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "I just want to figure out what this all means."

That phrase echoed in my head a few times, as if I had heard it innumerable times before. Then I realized that I had as a few more memories trickled back. The soldier that Walker had read about earlier- I remembered him now. His helmet, clutched under his arm, had rattled against his armor as he shook with terror at the prospect of war. Not a coward, but a boy, too young to be thrust into such peril. Generals, emperors, poor housewives desperate for children, I had spoken to them all. I just couldn't remember how I had gotten my information.

This time I lolled forward but remained upright, and I didn't think that I had made any noise. This was fortunate; I doubted that Walker could have withstood another similar shock.

"Did you remember more?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah…" I trailed off. I flickered heavily and shuddered at the sensation. "I don't know, I feel like there's something that I should remember." I looked up to see Walker staring at me, still obviously concerned. "I, um, think that I need to sit a minute before we keep researching."

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REVIEWS mean less waiting time between chapters.


	11. In Which an Oracle Gains Information

**Author's Note:** Sorry about updating. Life happens.

If you're a _Star Trek_ fan, check out my Isara Jones series for another cool female OC.

I like to think I left you all speechless with my last chapter, but I really do appreciate reviews!

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**Chapter 11: In Which The Oracle Gains Information**

About a week after the first flashback, we didn't know much more. Reincarnation was my top guess, though Walker was still skeptical. I decided that I was really ready for answers.

I sat on my blue-quilted bed, secure in the knowledge that Walker was out grocery shopping. Obviously we didn't need to eat, but it was important to keep up appearances for our few neighbors.

I shifted around a bit, then got down on the floor and knelt, hands clasped on the mattress, like I had seen my cousins do when I was little. Then I felt silly and stood again, settling for closing my eyes respectfully.

"Cas," I murmured, unaware that I had started calling him by the Winchesters' nickname. Casper twitched his tail somewhere on the floor to my right, but I ignored him. "Castiel. Listen, I need you to help me out. I don't have any idea what to do now that I'm Pythia. You seemed scared before, but I promise not to hurt you. I don't even know how!" There was still no response to my pleas. "Please, Cas! I don't understand. There's nothing in the books."

There was a silence so deep that I could hear the creaking of the trees in the forest behind the house as they cooled down in the late afternoon. I was determined to wait him out, so I kept my eyes squeezed shut and kept praying like I never had before.

"What do you need?" My eyes flew open at the brusque answer to see a disgruntled-looking Castiel standing before me.

"You didn't make the noise," I complained, wondering how long he had been standing there.

He nodded solemnly. "Stealth has been important lately."

I blinked, unsure how to continue our strange exchange. "Right. Well."

"You want to know about the Oracle, about your past lives." Uninvited, the angel plopped himself down on my bed. I nodded and sat down next to him. "You must understand that you are part of a larger, more complex issue, but here is the basic story."

I remained silent, worried that I would somehow do something wrong and make him leave, as he pulled a faded photograph from the pocket of his long coat. He handed it to me and I examined it; it was hard to make out at first, but I eventually distinguished several figures. A tall, dark-haired man sat on a staircase which stretched up and into the background. His face was kind but set solemnly for the photograph. Next to him, leaning against the handrail, was another man. This one had slightly lighter hair and strong features, but he was smiling.

Behind them both stood a woman wearing a collared, button-down dress which ended just below her knees. Her meticulously-curled hair hovered a few inches above her shoulders and one high-heeled foot was turned to show off the shape of her leg. She was pulling a face: her dark lips were pursed and one shapely eyebrow was raised. She was pretty in the style of the time (which I estimated at about 1955), and her pose showed a lot about her personality. The light-haired man's left hand was held by his ear by her left hand. Matching engagement rings adorned their fingers.

When I couldn't glean any more information from the picture, I turned expectantly to Castiel, who launched into his story. "I was wrong before: you were associated with the Men of Letters because of your powers, not the other way around." He paused, as if to gather his thoughts, and continued.

"In 1943, the Men of Letters located a huge well of supernatural occurrences just outside of Paris, France. They used their connections to investigate, and several months of work resulted in the procurement of a 16-year-old girl who had been terrorizing her neighbors.

"When she was brought back to America, they were unable to determine the source of her powers. All they knew was that she had witnessed the death of her family during the war, and this seemed to have triggered them."

I had a sneaking suspicion that I knew where this was going, but I kept listening.

"Eventually, using their vast resources, they discovered that the girl, Celeste, was the reincarnation of Pythia. They took her in, sheltered her, and trained her. Eventually, her powers, which sprang from the oldest of magic, grew to be equal to that of any angel. She married one of her teachers and allies in 1956 but continued to lead her life of training.

"Eventually, the angels became aware of her. Some felt threatened by her old magic, which was strong beyond anything which we had expected to find in a human. Others suspected that the Men of Letters could only maintain their power for so long, and that she would fall with them. So we waited.

"Unbeknownst to me, Zachariah hatched a plan to capture Celeste's spirit when she died a natural death, as even the Oracle must. Keeping her soul in heaven would prevent her memory from resetting and therefore from the next Oracle being born. However, eh… unforeseen circumstances arose. The demon Abbadon was summoned by the Men of Letters in 1958. She murdered everyone, including Celeste and her husband, and the society fell. Her soul slipped through the cracks in the ensuing chaos and the next Oracle was born.

"Unfortunately, this Pythia was unprotected and unknown. She boarded an airplane in Japan which crashed into Mount Osutaka in 1985 and killed her before she reached the age of thirty. Finally, you, Andrea Fosters, were born. The angels were determined not to let you escape this time. When you died, Zachariah tasked Tessa with bringing you directly to him. He suspected that you held some secret which could help turn the tide in the current crisis. Each time he tortured you, your memory would eventually reset. Then he would gain your trust again and try, over and over, to pry some useful information from you."

Cas stopped for a moment, but it wasn't because he had noticed that I was close to tears. It was because he was doing some math in his head. "You must have been tortured over a hundred times in the month which you spent in heaven."

I ducked my head, trembling and flickering uncontrollably. The photograph fluttered to the floor so that I could read the slanted script on the back:

_Henry Winchester with Celeste Desjardins and Anthony Nelson_

"That's why it didn't seem like a month," I murmured, "and why Zachariah seemed so annoyed with me." I prodded at the piece of paper again and was suddenly struck with something. "Winchester?"

"The father of the father of Sam and Dean," Cas explained.

I nodded, wondering how much of my life was really mine and how much belonged to Celeste and the Japanese woman who had died in 1985, and to all of the rest of my selves. My love of French? My affinity for funny pictures? The fact that I always, _always_ made time to walk down main street when the cherry blossoms were in bloom? And then the inconsequential fact that it was my love of mythology which had drawn me into the English department; journalism had been a tangent from that original path of study.

"Why were you afraid of me?" Even after hearing as much of the story as Castiel had known, I still didn't understand what great threat I posed to heaven.

"Your power," Cas said patiently, "stems from something much older than angels and demons. It grows from the Earth, it flourishes as much from nature as it does from the strength of human civilization itself. Your gods are petty, vengeful creatures now, with barely more power than the average warlock." I glossed over the derision in the last words, feeling that it would be pointless to call an angel out on religious bias. "But you, _you_ still have great potential. You are still strong. You could probably kill me if you knew how to utilize your abilities."

I looked down at my shaking hands and sincerely doubted it. In my memory, I had only had one dream which foretold the future, and that was under extenuating circumstances. I hadn't been able to hold off repeated angelic torture, or save my own life, for that matter. Then another problem came to mind.

"So, now that I'm trapped as a spirit…" I began.

"You are unable to be reincarnated," Cas finished. "Your memories will continue to accumulate, thus making you more powerful than you have ever been before. If you were to somehow release yourself from your current predicament, however, you would be born again as an infant. There is no way of telling where you would begin again. This would restore a certain balance to the world which has been upset by your continued death."

It was so weird to think that I had been a normal person a few months ago. "Where are Sam and Dean?" I asked in a lame attempt to move the subject away from myself.

"Dead."

"What?" I yelled, jumping to my feet. Please, not now, not like this, not when I had just found out so much.

Castiel seemed unconcerned. "It's the fourth time in as many months. They will be fine. I have given them as much guidance as I can." He leaned around me to check my clock. "They should be back soon. I must go." And with that, he disappeared.

I groaned and leaned back on my bed, mind swirling. So I really was just the latest in a long line of Oracles, each with her own life, and each one, at her core, me. I sat up again and bent to pick up the image on the floor, which Cas had left behind. I looked into the eyes of the woman. I hoped to find some sort of answer, make some sort of connection and suddenly come to terms with the fact that she was me, but her eyes were just blurred smears and no such realization came.

_Celeste Desjardins. _"Celeste," I murmured to myself. The name meant celestial or otherworldly. "Heavenly of the gardens." It was certainly a name fit for an Oracle. Then there was Anthony Nelson, to whom I had been married from 1954 to 1958. Almost thirty years before I was born. It was all beginning to hurt my brain.

"Andrea?" Walker stepped into my room holding a bulging paper bag of groceries. My panic was soothed a little at the normal sight. He must have spotted the alarm on my face because he practically dropped the food on the floor, scattering apples and dinner rolls across the my room. He sat down on the bed next to me, eyeing the photo that I was clasping in my shaking fingers. "I heard voices. What happened?"

I explained everything that Cas had told me, haltingly at first, and then gushing. I added my own details about the traits which I suspected that I had inherited from my past selves and filled in some more about my flashback. When I finished, there was a long silence.

Eventually, Walker took the picture from me and examined it, a look of resignation on his face. "All right then. I guess it's time we took this seriously."

"How do you mean?"

He turned and looked at me. "Let's go find Anthony Nelson."


	12. In Which the Oracle is Resigned to Fate

**Author's Note: **YOU GUYS I AM SO SORRY. Four months. Wow. *sigh* Anyway, I finally figured out how I want this story to wrap up, and I just sat down, re-read everything I had so far, and wrote this chapter. It took a while, but it felt good.

Thanks so much to everyone who has followed Andrea's journey with me, and to those of you who didn't give up on me in the long hiatus. It's been so much fun to write and your reviews and support have been brilliant. As always when I spend this much time on a character, I've come to think of her as a friend. I hope that this story made at least a small impact on your lives (or at least your perception of the fandom) too.

^ doing this here so I don't have to rant in the next (last!) two chapters

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**Chapter 12: In Which the Oracle is Resigned to her Fate**

As it turned out, Walker had never learned how to use a computer. I still didn't have enough control over my powers to type more than a few words before the stupid machine flickered and buzzed and the screen went dark. The other library patrons glared at me and I hurried off before some disgruntled IT worker could chew me out for damaging equipment.

After that incident, we went to another library and started pulling birth and death and marriage records from the entire midwest. doing all the research manually. Every morning we would arrive as the building opened, spend the day bent over books and thumbing through smudged pages, then leave when the librarians started looking edgy and pointedly rattling their key rings and clearing their throats as they glanced at the clock. This cycle repeated for five days, I working backwards from the year I knew that Nelson had died and Walker working forwards from the year I had met him.

Finally, early on the sixth morning, when even Walker was having difficulties maintaining an appropriate form, I stumbled across a thread which lead me to the correct cemetery. I thought that I would be more excited.

* * *

Walker and I decided to make the journey on foot. Somehow, I think that we knew even then that our adventures together were drawing to a close. I had some sense of the responsibilities upon me.

We barely spoke as we prepared. I wanted to be as alive as possible for the trip, so I actually packed a small backpack before looking at it, shaking my head at my own foolishness, and returning the items to their correct places. There was no reason on earth that I would need my river rock, or the Missoula address, or the photograph, much less a water bottle, a cell phone, or money. Besides, I was coming right back.

Even as I settled the rock back on my nightstand, the thought made me uneasy.

* * *

We walked and we walked for days to get to Missouri. We followed roads out of habit, but I at least could have made it with my eyes shut. Once I knew the location, I felt an inescapable pull to the place my husband was buried.

After the first day and night, we had exhausted any stories we had left to ourselves, and we walked in silence. Often we traveled hand in hand. Occasionally we traversed opposite sides of the road. All of the banter and casual liveliness in our conversation had faded away with the gravity of the situation, and I missed it. A sense of foreboding which I could only interpret as the beginnings of my prophetic abilities had wrapped itself around me, making me reluctant to make any fresh connections with the man. The last thing I wanted was to come to some revelation about the nature of our relationship and then have it shattered into a million pieces by some supernatural force.

* * *

We reached the cemetery at dusk.

Rows of tombstones, none of them much more than fifty years old, stretched as far as the eye could see. A rugged hill topped with a yew tree added to the creepy atmosphere.

"I guess I'm supposed to feel at home here," I tried to joke.

Walker grunted.

As the last of the day's light faded, a few spirits began to appear. A woman sat, child in her lap, against her headstone, crying mournfully. A man in a flamboyant suit perched atop his, trying to get the attention of another man a few plots over. Even in death, humanity's quirks showed through.

I recognized Anthony Nelson immediately, even though he was a good 200 yards away from us. I couldn't see his face, but his soul glowed familiarly and drew me closer. He was talking animatedly to another spirit at one side, and a third was nodding vigorously. As Walker and I approached, I could hear snippets of their conversation.

"…Henry's grandsons, is what I heard. They're responsible. Never heard of the Society, but they had it in their veins. Became hunters."

The man I knew to be Anthony shook his head. "Don't say it like you're chewing dirt, Derek. Hunters today can be respectable people. I hear the Winchesters are making quite a name for themselves."

The first spirit snorted. "Yeah, by starting the Apocalypse!"

I stepped close enough to really enter the conversation. "I'd watch it, buddy. Those are my friends you're talking about."

All three ghosts turned to me, and there was no lightning bolt of recognition like I'd hoped. Anthony raised an eyebrow, curious yet polite, and held out a hand. "I don't think I have the pleasure of your acquaintance, Miss…?"

"Fosters," I informed him, shaking his hand firmly, "and I think that you do."

I could see why my former self had loved this man, even after spending such a short time in his company. He was handsome and polite, and the way he had stood up for the Winchesters, whom I doubted he knew personally, gave me a good impression of his character. He was also clearly smart, because realization dawned quickly. His eyes flickered from my face to Walker's and back again, before whispering the name. "Celeste?"

I smiled, touched somehow by the moment. It was like I could feel Celeste inside me, struggling to the surface of my consciousness.

"Oui," I responded in French, though I was unaware of this at the time. "C'est moi."

He surprised me by stepping forward to hug me close, his large hands pulling me to him in a startling show of emotion. I gasped but didn't pull away, and it took me only a few moments to return the embrace.

"I'm sorry," he apologized after a minute or so of just holding me. He stepped back, hands on my shoulders to observe me. "That must have been strange for you."

I shrugged. "You should know that I'm not Celeste. Not really. I'm a journalist who died in a car accident a few months ago, and it wasn't until then that I learned my identity. But she _is_ part of me, and…" I looked at him for a moment, at the concerned and curious and on-the-edge-of-breaking-down expression on his face, and smiled again. "And that felt right."

He took a ragged breath, tried to speak, and decided against it. I thought I heard Walker snort behind me but decided to ignore his rudeness.

"If your Celeste was still here, she would say…" I trailed off, closing my eyes and drawing on her presence, which was incredibly tangible in the twilight graveyard. I felt myself flicker a little. "Je t'aime et tu me manques tellement. Mais vous devez être fort et répondre à ses questions." _I love you and I miss you so much. But you must be strong and answer her questions._

I came back to myself a moment later to see Anthony staring at me, openmouthed and with a silent tear tracking down his face. I turned to Walker, curious, to see that he also looked a little shocked. He stepped forward so that he was almost at my side and spoke quietly. "Your appearance shifted to the woman in the photograph. Only for a few seconds, but long enough to make an impression, no doubt."

The other two ghosts, who had been watching with interest only a few moments before, had now left uneasily. The graveyard was silent as- well- the grave. I was irritated that my internal monologue couldn't come up with anything better than that. Unfortunately, I hadn't exercised my writing brain in quite some time.

Anthony composed himself and drew himself up. "I understand that Celeste is- that she's gone. Though I thank you for the message." He cleared his throat. "How may I be of service to the Great Pythia?"

It took me the better part of three hours to explain my own story, and by the time Anthony had finished filling in the gaps in my knowledge when it came to Celeste, day was once again breaking over the top branches of the yew. Walker had wandered off to give us some privacy, though I know it pained him.

"I've only picked up a little from here," Anthony finished ruefully, gesturing to his plot and the surrounding ones, which I suspected also held members of the Men of Letters. "However, it sounds like your continued death is causing ripples. In a time like this, nothing good can come of it."

I nodded, rationally beginning to accept what I had truly known since my conversation with Cas. "I have to allow the reincarnation to take its course."

He nodded sadly. "I know how hard it will be to let go. Of your life, of your friends, of everything. Celeste, um, mentioned some of her memories to me once, and how a few times before a version of herself had to move the process along for the sake of the Empire."

Fearing losing him in a memory of a conversation, I prompted him almost immediately. "But I can't return to heaven. Zachariah will only hold me hostage again."

"Then you have to find a way to bypass that."

I nodded thoughtfully, a plan already forming. That was in the detached, logical part of my brain, however, and the rest of me was screaming in rebellion.

Then I thought of the Winchesters, and how, however good they were, they'd be gone in the blink of an eye. And Walker, lonely and miserable for hundreds of years by himself, and how a strange obstacle was forming between us after mere months. And Casper, and how his grief-driven insanity had led to five deaths. And suddenly I was tired. I had worked so hard to build a life, and all that was gone in one jerk of a steering wheel. Then again, completely starting over in a city- a world, in fact- that was completely unfamiliar to me, assuming new responsibilities, harnessing my powers and trying to build friendships. Jo and Ellen were gone. The rest would follow them soon.

What was there for me here, in this version of myself, besides an address, a rock, and a blurry photograph?

* * *

**Two more chapters, dear readers, and the last one is already written. I promise to update ASAP!**

**Please take the time to review, it really does make me happy and feel that my work is appreciated.**


	13. The Death of an Oracle (Part I)

**Chapter 13: The Death of an Oracle I**

Walker and I said goodbye to Anthony Nelson and thanked him for the information. After my friend had turned to start walking away, I gave him another hug for good measure. He accepted gratefully and wished me luck.

"All right," Walker finally said as we reached the border of the cemetery, "Where do our travels take us now?" I faltered but didn't stumble. Unfortunately, he still noticed. "What?"

"I can't let the cycle remain broken," I told him bluntly. I watched carefully out of the corner of my eye for his reaction. "The Oracle is meant to be reincarnated as soon as she dies. Having me on earth still, as a spirit, is messing with the world in ways that it can't handle. Not right now."

There was no response, so I turned to face him. As in all moments of concentration or emotional stress, he appeared as a forlorn, battered redcoat. His face was gaunt and the streaks of grime only added to the depth of the hollows of his cheeks. At first, I thought that he was still processing the information. Then he realized that he was making a concerted effort not to start crying.

I put a hand on his arm and he didn't shrug away, which was something. I slid it around until it was resting across his thin shoulders, holding him close to me. However many times I reminded to myself that we were both dead, I still found the idea hard to reconcile. I could see him so clearly, feel him against me, hear him breathing raggedly. His musket swung and bumped against my leg a little as we walked. He kicked a rock along the pavement, which was when I realized that we could probably both be seen.

"Better fade," I said quietly, and he nodded. Then we were silent again.

After perhaps two hours of walking, he rallied, stood a little taller, and put an arm around my waist. I resisted the urge to jump. _Please don't make me deal with this right now,_ I thought to no one in particular. _Not when I've just learned that I have to die. Please, please don't make me be in love with this man._

Then I remembered Castiel and his ability to hear prayers, and quickly quieted my mind.

"So where?"

"What?" After being silent for so long, the sudden speech jarred me.

"Where do you want to do it? I mean," he corrected hurriedly, "I know that you don't want to."

I thought for a few minutes. My first thought was the house in Missoula, but then I decided that there would already be too many painful memories there for Walker. Much better do it somewhere else.

It was an interesting dilemma. If you could foresee the moment when you faded into oblivion, where would you go to do it? Your first home? Your last? The place you had your first kiss, or some exotic city that it was your last chance to visit? Would you have friends around you, or would you want to be alone? How much time would you give yourself to say goodbye?

All of these things ran through my head and answers floated to the surface, voices from versions of me who had made the same choice long ago.

_It's better to go alone. It's just easier for everyone._

_You must return to the place where it all began. Delphi is the center of the cycle, the holy connection. Only there can you do what must be done._

_It would break his heart not to be there._

_I found London to be quite stimulating. You would enjoy it, and it would be easier to detach yourself from the emotion of it._

_Your friends must help. It is the only way._

_Remember that you will never truly fade. You will live on in the next Oracle._

I absorbed the input, which would have overwhelmed me only a few weeks before, without missing a step. I weighed my choices, considered the feelings of all involved, and suddenly the choice was clear.

"Let's go back to the intersection," I said finally, knowing that Walker would know which I meant. "That was where it was supposed to end, anyway."

He nodded silently, tightened his grip on me, and turned his feet in the right direction.

* * *

I stood on the sidewalk, surrounded by my four friends in the world. The Impala was parked against the curb and the Winchesters were leaning against the hood in that way that they do. Both had expressions of resignation on their face, and I knew that they were becoming numb to loss.

Castiel was standing awkwardly to one side of the brothers, arms hanging loosely. As always, I could see his angelic form, cramped as it was inside his host. His face was blank but he was crumpled, barely glowing, and practically emanating despair. It was a miracle that he had come, but the four of us combined had eventually attracted his attention.

Walker stood at my side, reluctant to leave it. All four waited to hear my plan while Casper ran around, sniffing everything and totally oblivious to the situation.

I cleared my throat as though I was about to give a formal presentation.

"Right, well, thanks for coming." No reaction. Awkward. "Um, as you know, I've called everyone here…" I caught sight of the miserable expression on Walker's face and sighed. "Look, staying on earth isn't doing anything to help the Apocalypse. I know what you guys are up to, hunting down the horsemen, and any weirdness that I'm causing will only throw you off their trail. You need to find Lucifer and you need to imprison him. You- we- are the good guys, and sometimes that means making sacrifices. And that's what I'm willing to do, if it'll help any of you at all."

I looked around at my friends. They understood sacrifice for the greater good, they understood my motives. They weren't happy about it, but at least none of them was going to oppose me.

"Sam and Dean, I need you guys to send my spirit on its way. I don't know how you usually do that-"

"Salt and burn the body," Sam said mechanically, almost clinically.

"But I was already cremated."

"Then we'll mix salt with the ashes. If you're trying to go anyway, that should be enough."

I nodded. This was normal. They were hunters doing their job. I was a wayward spirit, causing trouble by sticking around. Normal. Natural order of things. I almost laughed at that. There was absolutely nothing about this situation that was natural. Casper nuzzled my hand and I petted him absentmindedly.

"Cas, that's where you come in. I can't risk Zachariah or any of his cronies intercepting me again." This time, I noticed a definite bristle of animosity at the name. Good. He deserved it. "I need you to help me bypass the system, go directly to my next body."

"Occasionally, worthy individuals are escorted to heaven by angels. Martyrs, saints…" His deadpan voice trailed off and his eyes clouded over. We all gave him a minute, but after a respectful number of seconds had passed by, Dean prompted him quietly.

"Cas?"

The angel jerked and blinked around at us, as though he had forgotten where he was. His unsteady posture looked familiar to me. Was he drunk?

"Um, yes. I can escort your spirit to whatever incarnation is next in the cycle."

"Great. I guess that's that."

Sam went around to the back of the car and produced an urn. I raised an eyebrow. "You guys certainly came prepared."

"Yeah, you know…" He trailed off, but I knew what the rest of the sentence was going to be. _Places to go, things to do. _I was one small part of the Winchesters' life, and now they were going to outlive me. Throughout our entire friendship, I had assumed that I would watch them die, old and surrounded by families they had finally made the world safe enough to support, and then I would have to go on. I was just one more interesting side quest to them, I realized. One more ally who helps with a few cases and then fades into the background. One more body to salt and burn. One more goodbye in a string of many.

I didn't belong in this scene and I never had. I should have died and cycled through, and they would never even have known my name. That was how the world should have been, and I could return a little bit of that to normal now.

The emotional aspect of the moment was fading into the background. This was what needed to be done.

I walked over to the brothers and pulled them into a giant hug, much to their surprise. "Thank you," I whispered, "for showing me this world. It was amazing to have the chance to hunt with you."

Despite my earlier thoughts, it was a struggle to remain solid as they returned the hug wholeheartedly.

"Good luck, Andrea," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean added. "I'm sure we'll see you around."

I made an effort to grin. It probably came out a little lopsided. Then I turned to Cas and hesitated for a second before hugging him, too.

He barely responded. His depression ran deep, and I knew that he was barely functioning, but he did at least make the gesture of putting his hands on my back. I hurt for him and wished that there was something, anything I could do to pull him out of it. Mostly for the Winchesters' sake.

As before, a few suggestions from long-buried memories drifted to the surface.

_Just kiss him. That'd snap him out of it soon enough!_

_Smack him. He's asking for it._

_Tell him to keep hope. Even for one who knows the future, that can be the most valuable advice to those who suffer._

The last one jarred me back to myself. Duh. I could see the future.

I stepped back from the unenthusiastic embrace and dug as far into myself as I could, down through the memories and the pain and the prophecy to the little core of power which glowed darkly. I had avoided it before when sifting through memories, honestly afraid of the power is held. _What the hell_, I thought now. _Nothing to lose._

I probed it anxiously and felt my head snap back and my arms fling wide before I lost track of my spirit, flying forwards and backwards in time, snatching glimpses of my own death, and the one before that, then one a few decades ahead, then some ancient battle…

I managed to focus in on the near future and skimmed it, not wishing to get too far into the gory details. One thread of timeline stuck out to me and I settled on it, not sure why but hoping it held the answer.

_Cas and Dean fighting side by side to get out of Purgatory. The strength of their friendship driving them apart and bringing them back together. Sam and Dean, exhausted after a hunt but enjoying each other's company in another dingy motel room. Cas and Sam and Dean discussing tactics, Lucifer locked up for good. Future trials and not happiness, exactly, but perseverance._

I whipped back to myself and noted that only a few seconds had gone by, for which I was thankful. Sam and Dean looked at me oddly. Walker was still behind me, as if he was backing me up. Cas seemed uninterested.

"_Castiel_," I said, speaking with the authority of a thousand voices. Cool. "_Do not lose hope. Know your allies and fight by their sides, and even the darkest of situations may be remedied._" I flicked through the memories/premonitions, looking for any specific advice I could offer. "_And beware your hubris, for it shall lead to… um… bad things_," I finished lamely, the echo fading from my voice. Good general advice.

For the first time that day, Cas's eyes met mine as he connected with the situation. I smiled. "There we go."

"Was that you seeing the future?" Sam asked anxiously. "Can you give us anything more specific, something on how to trap Lucifer?"

I knew now what they would have to go through before their lives could return to any semblance of normal. "Just… take care of each other. All three of you. You'll need the help," I added.

Dean muttered something that sounded like "typical prophets," but I ignored him. Cas was back in the game- for now, at least- and I knew that the three of them would pull through. That was all I needed.


	14. The Death of an Oracle (Part II)

**Chapter 14: The Death of an Oracle II**

I turned to address Walker, who had been silent since the others had arrived. He was slouching, trying to appear nonchalant, but I knew how hard this was for him. I opened my mouth to say something, but there wasn't really anything to say. Nothing was going to make this any easier.

I froze for a second and we both just looked at each other. Then Walker darted forward and grabbed my shoulders, pulling my mouth to his. It was the strangest kiss of my life, between the watching humans and angel, the flickering in and out of existence, and the fact that I was about to die and my best friend had chosen this moment to kiss me. After the initial shock I leaned in, pulling him closer by the shoulders of his uniform.

When you're a spirit you don't really have any concept of heat, but your brain sometimes falls into old ruts and fills in the details. Walker's lips did feel warm to me, and soft, and I decided that it was also the best kiss of my life. It was desperate and rushed and I loved every second of it.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly and we pulled apart.

"Right. Well then." I blinked, immediately feeling the loss of Walker's arms around me. "I guess that's that."

After that kiss, it was a hundred times harder to be nonchalant about my death, which was exactly what I had feared. Despite that, though, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I hadn't realized how much Walker had been preying on my mind, but now it had been resolved. It was a fact, not an uncertainty. And there's nothing a journalist loves more than nice, orderly facts.

I looked back at Walker, at his tired, grey eyes and rigid shoulders, and we both knew that there was nothing more to say. We had bonded in a way that only shared hardships can allow, we were best friends and family and we loved each other. Had I really just thought that? _Yes_, I decided, _I love him_.

And from the despair and affection swirling in his eyes, the feeling was mutual.

Then I noticed the three pairs of bewildered and embarrassed eyes resting on me. I clapped my hands, trying to get my train of thought back onto the tracks. Or even into a region with a station. I cleared my throat, which is useless when you're a ghost. I turned to the Winchesters. "You said that, if I'm making an effort to go, just the salt will do the trick?"

"Should do," Dean said, clearly still unsure of how to react to recent events.

This was going to be the tricky bit. I knew more than anyone how hard it was to let go, and exactly what awaited me when I was yanked from my current form. I had to find a mindset where I would be able to just slip away.

Casper nudged my hand with his head and I jumped. "Cas! Oh no, I almost forgot." I knelt down to ruffle the soft hair behind my dog's ears, really struggling to hold back tears now. Casper had been my only roommate for a few years before this whole adventure started, and he had been invaluable on the last few hunts. Besides Walker, he was my best friend. Now that he was a spirit too, though, there was a very real danger to leaving him behind. The last time I had left him alone, he had begun transforming into a hellhound and had killed five people before I found him and brought him back to Missoula.

I looked up at Walker, already knowing that he couldn't refuse me when I had tears in my eyes like this. "Please take care of him, Walker. Please."

He sighed in a show of exasperation that I knew he didn't really feel. "Fine. I'll take him back to the house. But you know what I'll have to do if he starts to turn again," he added warningly.

I didn't want to think about it too much, but I knew.

"No time like the present, I guess." I stood up, unfolding my long legs, and realized that I was still wearing my too-small black pumps. I had been hunting down wendigos and werewolves in them for the past few months. The familiar sight of the battered, old shoes soothed me a little.

I walked over to the pole where my car had folded in on itself and killed my physical body. Thanks to the Winchesters and their efforts to release me from the location, there were no longer any blood stains.

I closed my eyes, trying to take myself back to that moment, breathing in the musty smell of the vents in my car and feeling the slight jumpiness of the gas pedal beneath my foot. If I opened my eyes, I told myself, there would be an enormous thermos of coffee and an untidy stack of papers in the seat to your right. _That song you really like, the one by Train, is on the radio._ The name of a Train song, whether past or future I didn't know, drifted to the front of my mind and I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "Angel in Blue Jeans."

Then suddenly I was thinking of Walker's old gramophone and record collection. He kept them in his room and put them on when he was lonely or in one of his moods, and the ghostly voices would waft through the house in warning. I never interrupted him. I could picture the crackling fire downstairs, the two chairs with iron filings in the seats, the shadowed figure across from me as we traded stories and waited for a thunder storm to pass overhead.

Memories started flickering through my mind at impossible speeds, and it was like my death was flashing before my eyes. Trying to levitate a stick and having it soar away over the trees. Pinning the wendigo against the wall with my then-unexplained powers. Trying to share a beer with the Winchesters at Bobby's place and having Dean scare it out of me, then even Castiel joining in the laughter. Afternoons just staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the changes and the weirdness. Reading the first few pages of a book in the _Supernatural_ series and then throwing it on the floor in disgust, knowing it would never compare to that day I sat in the backseat of the Impala and heard all of the stories through mouthfulls of hamburger. Using a phone for the first time without losing the connection to static.

Most of all, I remembered that step I took, when the sun was breaking over the horizon and I had just met the Winchesters for the first time, when I was terrified and confused but so incredibly excited, and I realized that I was about to go farther from the place of my death than I had ever been. Then I stepped off the curb.

I thought of all of these things and tried to dig back to memories of my life, of my friends at the newspaper and my boyfriend from the tech store down the street. They were fuzzy, like old photographs. Like stories about your grandparents' young adult years, where you can picture it but it's never quite _real_.

I looked around one last time at my four- five- friends. The Winchesters, solemn but determined, and somehow regretful too. Castiel, engaged now, looking me in the eye, and I remembered seeing him for the first time in heaven, imprisoned and tortured by his own brothers. He had gone through enough to break anyone, and I hoped for his sake as much as everyone else's that I was right and there was still a thread holding him together. And Walker, poor Walker, who I knew would give anything for a few more days, hours, minutes together with me. I was feeling similarly, but it was too late now. I was committed.

Casper cocked his head at me, confused, and wagged his tail.

I breathed deeply through my nose, which did absolutely nothing. Then I started talking myself back to the right place.

_My name is Andrea Fosters. I'm a journalist who lives in a crappy apartment with my dog, Casper. I have a boyfriend who works at a tech store. I have no idea who the Winchesters are and I don't believe in angels. Kindness in humans, of course, but not angels. I've driven through Missoula once. It wasn't memorable. This is my hometown. This is where I'm meant to die._

I opened my eyes and looked at Dean. "Do it."

* * *

**One chapter left, don't stop reading yet! This one was difficult to write, both because of the kiss and because of the emotion behind it. This goes to BrySt1, who was going to explode if Walker and Andrea didn't kiss!**


	15. Moving On

**Author's Note:** Screw it, I already had this chapter written and I figured you guys might want to see how it ended before whenever I remembered to post this. XD Enjoy, please review, and let me know what you thought of Andrea, Walker, and the rest of the gang!

This has been a pleasure to write, even more so because of you lovely readers. Keep on keepin' on!

* * *

**Chapter 15: Moving On**

The street was empty except for the girl. It was before seven in the morning, much too early for any sort of traffic in the sleepy residential neighborhood. Clouds covered the sky and the air was cool, but the permeating grey light and a promise of later warmth made her glad that she had left her sweatshirt at home. A single car rolled past, barely disturbing the still air. Birds sang loudly and continuously enough to remind her of the tropical rainforest exhibit at the zoo.

The girl, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old, clutched a journal close to her chest, clearly too concerned for its safety to risk stuffing it into her overflowing backpack. Despite the fact that this was crammed with textbooks and loose sheets of paper, a thermos and a metal lunchbox clanging merrily against the side, she ignored the weight and focused on the sound of her flats slapping the asphalt, the tickle of a strand of hair against her neck, the smell of new bark which her neighbor had laid down the week previously.

The girl reveled in these sensations because of her nightmare: it was one which troubled her frequently, more strange than frightening. She was always drifting, clearly aware and present, but could not feel anything. She could vaguely sense sounds, but the temperature of her environment, the scent of the flowers on an unfamiliar dining room table, the taste of bread that she hopelessly placed in her mouth; all of these escaped her. She couldn't even touch other people, but only passed through them.

So she shuffled her feet through every clump of damp leaves and enjoyed it. The dream always just tapered off, so it never disturbed her into the day.

"Good morning, Sophia!"

The girl turned her head and smiled widely. "Good morning Mr. Walker. How are you?"

"Oh, fine, fine," the man said, waving away the question with his hand. Mr. Walker, with his pale skin and long blond hair, used to unsettle her a little with the sad expressions he sent her way. Then her parents whispered to her that his young wife, to whom Sophia bore a slight resemblance, had passed away before she was born. In her, he saw a lost loved one.

Sophia had seen a picture of Andrea Walker when her husband had held a neighborhood barbecue. She was pretty and tall and had curly auburn hair. Sophia was short and rather plain with pitch black hair, but she had to agree that something about the curve of her jaw and the corners of her eyes was reminiscent of the face in the photograph.

At first, she had avoided the man, feeling pretty creeped out by being thought of as nothing more than a ghost. But, eventually, Mr. Walker's fascinating conversation and general neighborly presence put her at ease. He was a history major, and his favorite thing to do was to recount battles from the Revolutionary War with as much zeal and detail as if he had actually been there. She pitied him, too, for his sad past, and made a special effort to be kind to him. They were friends now, and he was always up to say "good morning" to her on her way to school, even when she left the house before her parents were awake.

Today, Mr. Walker was watching her pass by his house with his habitual sad smile. He gestured to his temple. "You have… a smudge of something there."

Sophia brushed her hand across the side of her face and the tips of her fingers came away black. She rolled her eyes and laughed. "I fell asleep with a pen behind my ear last night. It's just ink." She rubbed at it with her sleeve and stained that, too. She didn't really mind. Most of her clothing already had blue or black or red or green ink splattered or spilled or smudged on it.

Mr. Walker's eyes followed her hand down, his eyes saddening even as his smile brightened a little. "Indeed." He seemed to shake himself as Sophia looked pointedly at her watch and then towards the bus stop. "I'm sorry, I mustn't keep you. Are you still able to watch Casper this weekend while I'm out of town?"

Sophia grinned. "Of course!" The boisterous chocolate lab seemed to love her even more than its owner, if that was possible. "You know it's not any trouble."

"Thank you." Both of them glanced up as the rumbling diesel engine of the school bus trundled its way closer. "Hurry. Don't be late."

Sophia waved goodbye and began jogging, tightening her grip on the notebook. The school newspaper was due to be published at the end of the week, and she had stayed up late to perfect her article on feminism in modern art. A handwritten piece of paper titled "AHS Student Makes All-State Band" drifted carelessly from Sophie's backpack and skittered along the ground.

The wind blew the piece of paper alongside her, barely brushing her heels, until Sophia stopped running and leaned against the stop sign which marked the bus stop. No one else stood there. Then the piece of paper overtook her, and Sophia cried out and leapt forward into the street to grab it, horrified at losing her secondary article, toe catching on the curb as she tipped forwards and crashed face-first into the road.

Suddenly, the school bus was looming over her, tires and brakes screeching deafeningly as the startled driver swerved-

But she was no longer in the street. Someone had grabbed her by the backpack, dragging her upright. She whipped around to see Mr. Walker, shaking but determined, holding her still and… flickering?

He looked at her, jaw clenched. "Try to be more careful," he grunted.

"I will," Sophia gasped, out of breath.

And he turned and walked back towards his house.

* * *

"You told me that it was a ridiculous idea. You told me that I couldn't do her any good. But you saw that!"

Castiel sat nonchalantly on Walker's kitchen table and shrugged. "You did Sophia Assaro some good. But you didn't do anything for Andrea Fosters. She's gone."

Walker sighed, leaning against the refrigerator, defeated. Casper nudged his leg. He ignored him. It had been a decade and a half, and so many things were still painful.

"You don't have to stay here any longer." Walker jerked his head up, suspicious, but Castiel was as matter-of-fact as always. "You were overlooked in a war. In a system as complex as the afterlife, it was bound to happen eventually. Sam and Dean usually take care of those, but you were the exception. Now you don't have to be. You can come to heaven. It's rebuilding, and all the souls are still there." A tentative pause, that of an angel still unfamiliar with the patterns of human emotion. "Your family are still there."

Walker looked out his window at the white picket fence in his yard, at the worn path where a student who pitied him walked to school every morning. An adolescent who didn't know that she held the keys to the universe locked up in her mind, and who certainly had no memory of his true form. He looked down at the pleading brown eyes of the part-hellhound that he had to hide in plain sight. He looked around at the carton of milk on the counter, some of which he poured down the drain every morning to keep up appearances. He looked at the angel who had become his friend, sitting in his kitchen and making him an offer he already knew he couldn't refuse.

A doubt flashed through his mind. What would Sophia think? Would she worry about him? If he left a note saying that he had had to leave town for some family business and could she watch Casper indefinitely, would she suddenly remember the laughter they had shared in another life, or even miss him at all?

No.

His throat tightened. "All right."


End file.
